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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Cliap. p-Z-3 Copyright No._ 

Shelf_.iB-2i.33 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






























































































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FIRESIDE BATTLES 





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































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“If I go under pull," said Jean 




FIRESIDE BATTLES 

a ston? 



ANNIE G. BROWN 

> i 


Illustrations by Joseph C. Leyendecker 



When pain and anguish wring the brow , 

A ministering angel thou ! — Scott. 



CHICACO 


LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS 


24994 


P'£ s 
.B?|3S 


Libntry 01 ','ong r#« 9 | 

Two Cof«f.' Kece»*fD I 

JUL 23 1900 | 

Copjf.gW entry 

SKX'NP COPY. 

to 

ORDIR DIVISION, 

JUL 27 1900 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year nineteen 

hundred, by 

WILLIAM H. LEE, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


66310 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

I. 

Conway Place 

. 

7 

II. 

Elise. ....... 


15 

III. 

An Awakening, ..... 


. 23 

IV. 

Ups and Downs — Especially Downs, 


. 40 

V. 

Jean Enlists, ..... 


49 

VI. 

An Old Friend, ..... 


. 58 

VII. 

Ourselves as Others See Us, . 


. 68 

VIII. 

Wrestling with Difficulties, 


78 

IX. 

Archie Enlists, .... 


89 

X. 

Skirmishing all Along the Line, 


104 

XI. 

Brother John Again. ... 


. 117 

XII. 

Forlorn Hope, ..... 


. 128 

XIII. 

The Mother Takes Command, 


. 141 

XIV. 

Whirling in Society 


. 154 

XV. 

The Witches’ Spring 


. 168 

XVI. 

Jean and the Judge Flank the Mother’s Position, 

. 189 

XVII. 

What Can be the Matter with Alice ? 


. 205 

XVIII. 

Poor Alice 


. 224 

XIX. 

Duke Enlists, ..... 


. 243 

XX. 

Other People’s Battles, .... 


. 261 

XXI. 

Explanations, ..... 


. 278 

XXII. 

Alice Enlists, ..... 


. 299 

XXIII. 

Unconditional Surrender, 


. 315 


TO THE MEMORY OF 


VIRGINIA A. JEMISON 

OF ALABAMA 

MOST DEVOTED OF DAUGHTERS, BEST OF SISTERS 
AND TRUEST OF FRIENDS 


THIS STORY IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 


Fireside Battles 


CHAPTER I. 



CONWAY PLACE 

ELL, Mother, I suppose you will 
want Conway just as it stands?” 
said John, opening the discus- 
sion in the grand conclave which 
was being held in the drawing 
room. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Conway, “I 
had thought of taking it, if it 
were agreeable to all of you 
older children.” 

“Why, of course it is!” chimed 
in Elise. “I am sure we want to 
keep up our family ties, and as 
this is our natural place of ren- 
dezvous, who else should have 
it?” 

“And then, too,” said Anna, “some of us have children who 
will soon be old enough to go to school, and no place could 
be so pleasant or so appropriate for them as their grandfather’s 
old home.” 

As others joined in and the discussion became general, Judge 
Bruce came across the room and said: 


( 7 ) 


8 


CONWAY PLACE 


“Madam, I must earnestly advise you against this step; 
nothing could be more unwise.” 

As three young heads turned anxiously and three young 
hearts almost stopped beating to catch the mother’s reply, 
there was a sound of scuffling in the hall, followed by shrieks 
from a baby’s voice, and the mother said : 

“Jean, go to the baby;” and Jean had to leave the room 
though her heart was in her throat. 

Baby Kate was awfully spoiled and had a new nurse besides, 
so Jean didn’t get back into the drawing room all the after- 
noon. But she lingered as near as Kate’s fretfulness would 
allow, in the hope that Alice or Duke would come out and 
tell her what was said. The thought of losing Conway seemed 
like being brought face to face with the end of things; her 
mind could conceive of nothing beyond, and she walked up 
and down the porch trying absently to quiet the child. 

Conway Place was a lovely old home, though its beauty was 
not of the modern sort. It had no picturesque gables, cosy 
balconies, or jutting bay windows; but there was an air about 
its spacious walls, high pillared porches, and ample grounds, 
which seemed to say that its claims to consideration were 
superior to mere conceits of architecture. To be sure, the 
walls, guiltless of a fresh coat of paint for many years, were 
taking on a sad, gray tone; the front gate drooped upon its 
hinges with a down-in-the-mouth expression, and there were 
many rifts in the fences through which the calves were con- 
stantly straying in and destroying the shrubbery. Then, too, 
the furniture though handsome, was of a generation gone, and 
the carpets were worn by feet which no longer crossed the 
threshold. But in all these defects, Conway had ample good 
company in the other “homes of the first families” in town. 
So, never having known anything better, Jean was abundantly 
content with her old home; indeed how much a part of herself 
the place and its belongings were she had never realized till the 


CONWAY PLACE 


9 


idea of losing it was thrust upon her. Now, everything — from 
the elms in the avenue to the plum-bushes growing surrep- 
titiously down by the back orchard fence — took on a dearer 
beauty. The occasion of this new idea was the settlement of 
her father’s estate. 

There was to be a final apportionment and for it all of the 
other two “sets of children” had assembled at Conway. There 
were brother John and brother William Henry, sister Elizabeth 
and sister Marianna, the first wife’s children, who were mar- 
ried and living at a distance. Then, there were brother Rene 
and sister Elise whose mother, the second Mrs. Conway, was a 
beautiful French woman from New Orleans. The last wife and 
her five children, of whom Jean, just fifteen, was the oldest, 
completed the family. 

After awhile, Judge Bruce and the mother came out and 
stood talking on the steps. As Jean watched her mother’s 
graceful black-draped figure and saddened face, and thought 
of her being taken from all that home was to her, her own 
heart swelled with indignation, and when the mother put her 
heavily-bordered handkerchief to her eyes, Jean slipped up and 
stole an arm around her waist. Judge Bruce was saying: 

“I tell you it will be suicidal, Madam; you heard what they 
said in there. As long as you keep this place, you will have 
a house full of them, and it will take a fortune to keep you up; 
and candidly, there isn’t going to be anything like a fortune for 
any of you. You’d better let the place go to whoever will pay 
the most for it.” 

“Oh, Judge,” said the mother tearfully, “I know you are 
right, practically, but I can’t bring myself to take a practical 
view of it. I feel that it would be cruelty to my children to take 
them from their home, and I am prepared to undergo anything 
rather than inflict it upon them. As for the others, of course 
their father’s children will always be welcome to what I have, 
be it much or little, so that will not make any difference. Of 


10 


CONWAY PLACE 


course,” she continued in a business-like tone, “I can’t live in 
my present style; I’ll have to reduce my expenses, but my 
children will have some income and it will be but fair for them 
to contribute something to the common support.” 

Jean was touched and felt surprised to see that “Uncle 
Bruce,” as she had been taught to call the judge, didn’t look 
convinced. 

“Then you have decided definitely?” he asked. 

“Yes, definitely,” answered Mrs. Conway, and Jean’s heart 
gave a bound. 

“Then I hope you will pardon me, if I have seemed persistent 
in urging my views,” said the judge, rather grimly. “I’ve only 
been anxious that we should do the best possible.” 

“Of course I understand that, and it makes it all the more 
painful for me to act in opposition to your advice.” Again 
mamma’s handkerchief went to her eyes. “Oh, Judge, you are 
so good to me arid my fatherless little ones, and we are so 
much trouble, yet so powerless to make any return.” 

“Don’t speak of it, Madam,” said Uncle Bruce; then he 
added, in a softened voice, “Nothing that Conway and I ever 
did, the one for the other, was accounted troublesome, and 
had he been spared and I taken, I should have left him the 
same duty.” Then turning to Jean he added cheerily, “Get 
your bonnet, little woman, and take a drive with me.” 

Care-free and happy once more, Jean ran after her hat, and 
was soon seated beside the judge and bowling away behind 
his stout farm-horses. She was named for his wife and had 
been petted by him ever since she could remember. But she 
was destined to another unpleasant experience that afternoon ; 
for no sooner were they well under way, than the judge turned 
to her and said gravely: 

“I am afraid you think it very heartless in me to want to 
take your home from you, Jean.” She didn’t know what to 
say at the moment, and he continued, “But it is necessary — 


CONWAY PLACE 


11 


absolutely necessary — if I could only get your mother to see 
it.” 

He looked away with a troubled expression and went on to 
tell her of the changes the war had made in the South; of the 
destruction of, and shrinkage in property; the changed condi- 
tions of life and the necessity for recognizing them. 

“Oh dear,” thought the grey-eyed, brown-haired girl at his 
side, gathering her broad, white forehead into a frown, “there 
it is again! Hard times! I haven’t heard anything else since 
I can remember. Poor papa didn’t talk about anything else 
before he died; yet there has always been plenty. And now 
Uncle Bruce is at it, too! I do wish he wouldn’t!” But aloud 
she said, in a voice which failed to conceal her indifference: 

“All that is dreadfully bad, and I am mighty glad girls don’t 
have to bother about such things.” 

“That’s just where you are mistaken,” said Judge Bruce, 
with a gravity that surprised her. “You are expected to under- 
stand these things and to act accordingly.” 

“Why, Uncle Bruce! What can I do? Can I help you to 
manage our business?” 

“No, but there are more important things you can do ; you 
can get a clear understanding of affairs and help to influence 
your mother; and you can look after the management of things 
at home. You know I said I would do my best to help you to 
a trip to Europe if you would take first place in your class. 
But there is a sterner necessity for your applying yourself; you 
may have to support yourself and not improbably help to 
educate your brothers and sisters.” 

“Uncle Bruce,” said Jean, with a mischievous look at her 
old friend, “are these what mamma calls your Yankee ideas?” 

“Humph!” said the judge, rubbing his long chin, “I suppose 
they are; at any rate they are the ideas which in practice have 
raised me from a poor lad on a New England rock-patch to be 
a man of some means, and I trust of some usefulness in the 


12 


CONWAY PLACE 


world; and I hope these same Yankee ideas will do as much 
for my children. I know my neighbors are criticising me on 
account of the course I have taken with my children; I don’t 
argue with them about it, but I will try to justify myself to you, 
child. We people of the South have been eating our 'white- 
bread/ as the negroes say, and have been feeding our children 
on nothing else just because we thought it would last always. 
I had coarser fare in my youth, but it had been so long ago, 
and I had had so much whitebread since, that I had forgotten 
how the other tasted. Your poor father had nothing else all 
his life, till the last, and then the change of diet killed him. 
But now the whitebread is all gone, and the best thing I can 
do for my children is to accustom them to the other diet — to 
teach them to accept cheerfully a different lot in life from that 
they anticipated, and to make the best of it.” 

“But I should think,” said Jean critically, “that in doing so 
you could put them at something easier than working in the 
field.” 

“Well, let’s suppose I could get all my boys clerkships in 
town. They would see all their old playfellows idling around 
and would conclude they were being hardly treated, and so 
get dissatisfied and lose their places. But after working in the 
field, I warrant they’ll think themselves lucky dogs to get 
something easier, and will stick to it when they find it. It’s 
better to toil from the bottom of the ladder than to slide from 
the top ever so easily, eh?” 

Jean laughed and the judge continued with something like 
a quiver in his voice, “I know it was the dearest wish of your 
father’s heart to make his children comfortable and happy, and 
for that reason there’s nothing in reason and honor that I 
wouldn’t do to accomplish the same end ; but it is beyond my 
power to do it in the old way. The most — the best — I can 
hope to do for them, is to get them to look life in the face, as 
it comes, and to prepare to make their own way in the world. 


CONWAY PLACE 


13 


I couldn’t take my old friend by the hand when I meet him in 
the Great Beyond if I did less. I begin with you because, 
being the oldest, you can influence the others; you have it in 
your power to make self-helpful, useful men and women of 
your brothers and sisters. Oh child! I don’t know of any one 
who has a grander opportunity for helping their loved ones 
than you have.” 

Uncle Bruc^ spoke enthusiastically, while something very 
like tears suffused his kind, old eyes. But his enthusiasm died 
and a cloud passed over his face as Jean answered coldly: 

“I don’t think the oldest ought to be held responsible for 
the others; each should depend on himself; and I know I 
couldn’t do anything with mamma if you can’t.” 

When Jean alighted at the gate once more, it was in rather 
a dazed state of mind; she felt as if the solid ground had shaken 
under her feet. 

“Why on earth,” she thought, discontentedly, “did things 
have to go and get torn up so, just as I came along? Why 
couldn’t they have gone on as they did in papa’s time, when the 
others were growing up and enjoying themselves? It isn’t at 
all fair!” 

The sun had gone down, leaving a bank of rose against 
which the old house stood out grandly. The pigeons were 
wheeling and circling over its roof and among its tall columns. 
The sound of Mammy’s rolling-pin pounding away on biscuit 
for supper, mingled cheerily with the song of Aunt Minerva 
from the cow-pen. Lights were beginning to appear here and 
there in the house; the sound of music and laughter floated 
out through the open doors and windows, and the soft air was 
full of the odor of cape-jasmine. 

“Really,” she thought as she went up the avenue, “isn’t 
Uncle Bruce mistaken after all in thinking that things are go- 
ing to ruin so fast? Here are brother John and brother Wil- 
liam Henry who don’t seem to be alarmed. Maybe its because 


14 


CONWAY PLACE 


Uncle Bruce is getting old, or perhaps he had the blues ; any- 
way, it won’t do any good to worry.” 

The Conways well knew how to enjoy themselves. The 
children of a wealthy Southern man, the good things of life 
had always come to them without effort or thought on their 
part; and being good-natured and light-hearted, they carried 
an air of cheerfulness and jollity wherever they went. 

They had not had a family re-union in some time, and all 
endeavored to make this a happy one. Jean thought she had 
never seen such bright faces or heard so many funny jokes and 
witty sayings as she encountered at the supper table that night. 

The great mahogany table, with its massive drop-leaves, had 
been spread to its full extent and its surface polished till it 
reflected the snowy napkins laid here and there in lieu of a 
cloth after Southern fashion at tea. The candelabra from the 
drawing room stood in a row in the centre, their musical 
tinkling prisms reflecting the light of many candles. The 
silver-service had been polished to its brightest and the best 
china brought out. Mammy Lily-Rose had done her best on 
the broiled chicken, biscuit and waffles; and Noona’s dark face 
shone with pleasure beneath her white turban as she passed 
back and forth or stood with her silver tray behind Mamma’s 
chair. Once as she passed she whispered : 

a O, Miss Jean! this is just like old times!” 

It was indeed like the days which Jean could just remember 
when her father sat at the head of the table with his family 
around; ere the dark cloud of the civil war had scattered them, 
sending some into exile, some to the battle-field and prison, 
and the father’s gray head in sorrow to< the grave. 

After supper, friends began to drop in for an evening call; 
the children were turned into the moonlighted yard to romp; 
Rene brought out his violin and Elise her banjo ; the servants 
gathered about the windows to look on, and soon all recollec- 
tion of Uncle Bruce’s forebodings had vanished from Jean’s 
mind. 


CHAPTER II. 


ELISE 



LISE was the most fascinating 
person the younger Conways 
had ever seen. 

At the beginning of the 
Civil War, which had not been 
over long, their father, Gov- 
ernor Conway, had sent Elise 
and Rene, then a girl and boy 
of fifteen and seventeen years 
respectively, with some of their New 
Orleans relatives to France. But the 
restraint under which girls are kept in 
that country didn’t suit Elise’s inde- 
pendent American spirit, and soon she 
and Rene obtained permission from their 
father to travel. With a liberal allowance 
to their credit in a Liverpool bank, the 
young people spent several years in a free 
and easy life, going where they pleased and studying only 
when and what they chose. 

The New Orleans relatives were shocked at Governor Con- 
way’s idea of turning loose a boy and a girl, without over- 
sight, on a foreign continent; but he had always allowed his 
children to do pretty much as they pleased, and as none of the 
older ones had ever got into serious trouble, he felt no hes- 
itancy in giving Elise and Rene the greatest liberty. 


( 15 ) 


16 


ELISE 


In the fourth year of their absence they were called home by 
their father’s illness, but did not reach America in time to see 
him again. They learned the sad news of his death upon 
reaching New Orleans, and decided not to go back to Conway, 
but to make their home with relatives in the city, where Rene 
began the study of law. 

So it had come about that Jean and Alice had not seen their 
favorite half-sister, except at long intervals, in some years. In 
all this time Elise had developed from a lank, sallow girl into 
a very handsome woman. She had a slender, graceful figure 
and an abundance of glossy black hair. Her rich complexion; 
almond-shaped eyes and delicate arched brows gave her beauty 
a decidedly Japanesque cast, which was peculiar and very 
striking. Naturally bright and lively, her residence abroad had 
given her a wonderful store of information and charming ease 
and grace of manner. She had a fondness for being liked and 
exerted herself to please every one with whom she came in 
contact. With a happy tact at avoiding disagreeable things, 
she made an atmosphere of cheerfulness and pleasure around 
her which attracted every one. All the servants at Conway 
were proud of her and were always glad of a pretext for wait- 
ing on her, while the children hung about her constantly. Nor 
was she a bit spoiled byall the grand sights she had seen; 
all were agreed upon that. She would run a race, or play a 
game of marbles with Duke, climb a tree for green apples with 
Alices or hunt hens’ nests in the stable-loft with Archie. 

The young Conways had always lived in a country town, 
and being “war children” had had few books except those left 
by their older brothers and sisters, which they had fished up, 
yellow, torn and backless, from the depths of closets and attic 
chests. So the handsome sister with her stories of the wonder- 
ful things beyond the sea, came into their lives like a real, 
tangible revelation from fairyland. She had a trunk filled with 
mementos which was a mine of untold pleasure. There were 


ELISE 


17 


garments, toys, trinkets, and photographs without number, 
each of which had a history that was simply a revelation. 
Elise’s head was full of old legends and stories and the children 
had but to ask about the picture of an old ruined castle or 
monastery or some cathedral or palace and she would people 
it for them with enchanting panoramas of gallant knights in 
the mad furor of the joust, beautiful ladies in dire distress, 
fairies and gnomes at their eerie pranks, martyrs at the stake, 
and lords and kings in high revelry. 

Jean and Alice took turns in sleeping with her, and often, 
after an evening in the parlor where maybe in some picturesque 
peasant costume she would amuse them with quaint foreign 
songs and dances to the accompaniment of Rene’s violin, the 
two would lie and talk till Elise lost the thread of her story 
and dropped to sleep, leaving her companion wandering in 
palaces, royal gardens, or over Alpine heights. 

During Elise’s first visit after her return from abroad, Jean 
had gone quite wild, and after one of these imaginary journeys 
exclaimed: 

“O Elise! I must — I will travel. I can never be contented 
till I have seen all those beautiful, glorious things for myself!” 

“Of course,” replied Elise, “every girl ought to travel; no 
one can have a finished education who doesn’t.” 

“But do you think mamma will let me? I’ve no one to go 
with and — and — oh, there are so many things in the way!” 

“There are no great difficulties in the way, though it is quite 
natural for those who have never traveled to think so. As for 
company, I can get you into suitable company among my 
friends in New Orleans any season; and I will talk to Lina 
about it, if you want me to,” said Elise. 

“Oh, do, Elise!” said Jean excitedly. “I know she will lis- 
ten to what you say; you can persuade her if any one can.” 

“Well, I’ll try, and then we shall see if I’m as eloquent as 
you think.” 


18 


ELISE 


“Oh Elise, I just know you are the prettiest, smartest, best 
sister in the world!” Jean exclaimed, and Elise laughed hap- 
pily. 

Mrs. Conway offered no objection to Jean’s plan; on the 
contrary she said: “I’m delighted, dear, that you have so 
much ambition. I have always wanted you to be highly cul- 
tured and, since seeing your sister Elise, I am more than ever 
determined to give you the best advantages.” Elise caught 
her skirts out at the side and made a mock courtesy, saying 
laughingly, “You are very flattering, Lina; but without any 
blarney, I think Jean would improve good opportunities and 
I’m glad she will get them.” 

This had been two years ago; and Jean’s trip had grown to 
be rather a stale subject in the family, and was not often 
alluded to except by Duke and Alice to twit and to tease. 

During Elise’s present visit, Jean persuaded her to teach her 
French, but after the first few lessons Alice, not liking to be 
shut out, insisted on joining the class, using her usual argu- 
ment that she was “nearly as old as Jean and had as much 
right.” 

Then, somehow, the lessons didn’t progress; they always 
began in great earnest, but there were so many interesting 
things to talk about — Paris — the Bon Marche — the beautiful 
empress and the lovely things she wore. Jean would listen till 
her conscience began to hurt and then she would wrench her- 
self away and steal off. 

In one end of the long attic, Jean had had her playhouse 
ever since Alice had been large enough to tyrannize over her. 
It was fenced off by a pile of boxes and old trunks which 
completely hid it from the rest of the long room. In one 
corner were the ruins of Lady Ellen Douglass’ rustic lodge. 
The lake, made of piece of broken mirror, had long ago been 
shattered and swept into a corner. Lady Ellen herself, Jean’s 
one “bought” doll, had been sacrificed to Kate’s fretfulness 


ELISE 


19 


and mamma’s nerves, and her battered remains now lay tragic- 
ally stretched across the painted paper boat in which she used 
to float so romantically. In another corner was a pile of dilap- 
idated books — fairy tales — which had been thumbed into hope- 
less decrepitude. Between the two, stood the upper half of an 
old bookcase, a peep behind whose faded calico curtain would 
have shown nothing but books of travel, from Rollo’s Tours to 
a complete set of Bayard Taylor; and the neatness and care of 
their arrangement would have told of more recent interest. 
But the dust was gathering thick on the curtain, while day after 
day Jean, lying face downward on a piece of matting, her 
elbows resting on an old red cushion, patiently filled a large 
slate with figures only to erase them and refill it again and 
again. 

One afternoon as she worked away deeply absorbed, a loud 
gruff voice at the top of her barricade suddenly said: 

“Oh yes, I’ve caught you at last!” 

Jean started and blushed as Elise shouted with laughter. 

“O Elise, how you scared me!” she cried, looking up to 
where the intruder stood with her skirts caught up in one hand 
and her slippers in the other. 

“A guilty conscience, Miss, for running off and leaving me!” 
said Elise, climbing down. “Is this the way you show your 
appreciation of my society?” she continued, making herself 
comfortable Turk fashion on the red cushion, which Jean 
shoved towards her and proceeding to put on her slippers. 

“I’d rather be with you than with anybody in the world, 
but I’ve got to review this book. I don’t understand it thor- 
oughly and professor is going to put us into a higher one next 
year.” 

“What is it? Algebra! Pshaw! I wouldn’t waste my time 
on that if I were you ; a girl never has any use for such things. 
If it were mythology now, or history, it would be more sen- 
sible.” 


20 


ELISE 


“But I must. I may have to teach if I am ever to go to 
Europe; Uncle Bruce has promised to do his best to let me go 
if I will take first place in my class, and that is what I am 
working for now. If he fails, then I will be prepared to teach, 
you see.” 

“I thought you had given up the idea of traveling as you’ve 
said nothing about itdately.” 

“No, indeed; I’m more determined than ever; I feel that life 
won’t be worth the living if I don’t get to go, and that’s why I 
am preparing to work. Of course I’ve outlived my childish 
idea of just seeing things. I am older now and understand that 
the real object of travel is to study and understand what one 
sees, and so become intelligent and highly accomplished like 
you.” 

“And if you have to teach, you will get a position in some 
millionaire’s family, marry the son or brother and take your 
tour as Mrs. instead of Miss. A nice little scheme! Who 
would have thought you were so cunning?” said Elise, archly. 

“No,” said Jean, hastily. “I am not going to marry — that is, 
not in years and years, if ever.” 

“So?” said Elise, raising her eyebrows laughingly. “I won- 
der what Louis Matthews will say to that; I see he comes 
here quite often.” 

“Oh, Louis is a nice boy and I like him ever so much, and 
Annie is my best friend; but I’m going to teach and travel and 
study, and oh, Elise! if I just had your knowledge of French 
and German!” 

“Eh bien! but I can’t let you have it for the reason that I’m 
going to use it myself just as you propose doing.” 

“You! You teach, Elise!” cried Jean in astonishment. 

“Oh! of course, I am not going into the drudgery of it, and 
wear myself to sticks, like poor little old Crenshaw who used to 
paralyze herself trying to drum that Algebra into me. ‘Young 
ladies, will I never get you to remember that you are to add 



“l\i rather be with you than with anybody in the world ” 














































< 
















































































































ELISE 


21 


like signs, take the difference between the quantities and affix 
the sign of the greater?’ Bah! I wouldn’t go through with 
that, not I ! I am going into a family where my duties will be 
light, almost nothing, and I will have all the luxuries I am 
accustomed to. But don’t say anything about it; I haven’t 
even told Rene yet.” 

“But why are you going to do that?” asked Jean. “I thought 
you were having a splendid time in society.” 

“Oh,” replied Elise, suppressing a yawn, “one tires so of 
this monotonous American life that any change is welcome; 
besides, this will have a dash of romance on it; for I am going 
under an assumed name, and what an inviting door that will be 
for adventures.” 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Jean, startled by the 
proposition. 

“Why,” said Elise, surprised in her turn, “would you have 
me shame my father’s honorable name by going out as an 
upper servant under it!” 

Jean had no answer to this argument, though she didn’t feel 
quite satisfied; and Elise continued, “My employer is very rich 
— one of the nouveaux riches — and wonderful to say, he has 
sense enough to know that his family needs one who is ‘to the 
manor born’ to pilot them through the intricacies of good so- 
ciety. I have stipulated that I am to be received as one of the 
family and to go into society, where I am to pass as a visiting 
friend. I am to teach ‘les demoiselles’ French, dancing and 
etiquette — to form them, in fact — and to help madame enter- 
tain. It will be a rich experience, no doubt, and it offers a fine 
field. The only drawback is that the old niggard won’t pay 
me near what my — my ministrations* are worth, but I will 
make him pay roundly for his stinginess before I have done.” 

“You are certainly the cleverest girl in America,” said Jean, 
with profound admiration; “but how did you get such a place? 
I would never have thought of such an arrangement.” 

“Through an agency, of course. I had to let some of my 


22 


ELISE 


best friends into the secret in order to give references, but they 
will not betray the joke. So henceforth I am no more myself, 
but poor Mademoiselle Sevier, daughter of an old creole fam- 
ily, who was sent abroad during the ‘Revolution’ and returned 
at its close only to find family and fortune swept away. Do 
you think I can play the demure Mademoiselle successfully?” 

“ You may for a time, but the rollicking old Elise will come 
out in the end, I am sure. How I wish I were going to be 
with you!” Jean finished with a sigh, and Elise patted her 
cheek softly. 

The family were as much astonished as Jean when Elise 
unfolded her plan, but no one offered an objection except John, 
who remonstrated with her earnestly, especially upon the im- 
propriety of an assumed name. 

“If it is because you feel that you have no home, Elise, my 
doors are open to you. You shall be as one of my own chil- 
dren.” 

“Thank you, John; nothing could be kinder than your 
brotherly offer, but with a family dependent upon you I could 
not think of such an imposition,” Elise replied. 

“Well, if you feel that you must do something, I’ll get you a 
place. We need a teacher in our neighborhood; and I know 
you can get a school of twenty-five or thirty pupils, which will 
pay you a good salary of at least $25.00 a month.” 

But John wasn’t prepared for the expressive shrug which 
was Elise’s only answer; indeed, his feelings were rather hurt 
and he said no more. 

A few days more and what a change had come over Conway ! 
The visitors had all left; and the division of the books, silver- 
ware and family portraits had made sad vacancies about the 
house, which Noona tried in vain to hide by rearranging what 
was left. The back yard, too, looked deserted, with nobody 
about except Mammy Lily-Rose, Button and Noona; and now 
that Uncle Si was gone, the calves and dead leaves had it all 
their own way in the shrubbery. 


CHAPTER III. 



AN AWAKENING 

NE morning Jean was awakened by 
hearing her name called, and 
opened her eyes to see her 
mother’s anxious face in the 
doorway. She sat up and asked 
what was the matter. 

“Get up, child! Lily-Rose 
sends me word that she is sick 
and can’t finish cooking the 
breakfast ; I want you to go and 
see if you can’t persuade her to 
go on with her work.” It was a fixed belief 
with Mrs. Conway that Lily-Rose’s attacks 
were all a pretense gotten up to^ make things uncomfortable for 
herself. 

“Here is trouble, sure enough,” thought Jean in dismay as 
she began to dress hurriedly. The mother went to the window, 
drew back the curtain and stood gazing out sadly. 

“It wasn’t enough that Noona should persist in going off on 
that excursion, but Lily-Rose must take advantage of her 
absence to annoy me in this way. I do think my servants have 
less consideration for me than any I ever saw. I wonder what 
your poor father would have done if he had known we should 
be brought to this? Oh, I know my poor children will starve!” 
And as helpless as if she had been cast upon a desert island, the 
unhappy mother burst into tears. 


(23 ) 


24 


AN AWAKENING 


“Oh, Mamma, don’t cry! I’ll make it all right. Indeed, 
I can cook myself if the worst comes; you don’t know how 
many useful things I learned from Aunt Bruce and her girls 
when I was at Mock Orange,” said Jean, trying to speak 
cheerfully. Somehow the helpful words — the first she had ever 
tried to speak — seemed to come natural to her, and they did 
good, too; for her mother wiped her eyes and looked at her 
gratefully, saying: 

“You are a good child, Jean, and I am thankful for that at 
any rate.” 

On the way to the kitchen, the confidence Jean had felt at 
sight of her mother’s distress began to desert her. Although 
her curiosity had hovered wistfully about it for a long time, the 
kitchen was almost an unknown land to her ; for Mammy Lily- 
Rose, its commander-in-chief, had a bad temper and didn’t 
like children — -two mighty good reasons for keeping away 
from it. It was a small brick room some fifteen steps from the 
back porch, and its low unceiled Joists and bare walls were 
black with the smoke of many years. 

As Jean approached it, she saw Mammy sitting like a fire 
queen on a high stool in front of the cavernous fireplace. All 
around her on the stone hearth which covered nearly half of 
the floor, where pots, skillets, and ovens, under whose legs and 
on top of whose lids the bright coals were gleaming. The suf- 
fering which pinched the old darky’s face and held her back as 
stiff as her own poker had also sharpened her rough temper. 

“Come erlong, whi’ gal! Yer’ll hatter come ter it an’ you 
mought as well make er beginning,” she said savagely, as 
Jean’s face appeared in the doorway. Jean’s only answer was a 
timid “Good morning!” 

Mammy replied with something between a snort and a 
growl; then as Jean stood trying to think of something to say, 
she asked with withering irony: 


AN AWAKENING 


25 


“Is dere any mo’ cornin’ down stairs ter he’p me dis 
mawnin’?” 

Jean who didn’t perceive the sarcasm of the question, said: 

“No’m.” Then looking up innocently, she asked, “Do you 
want Alice, too?” 

“No!” said Mammy, going off with a bang that made Jean 
jump, after which she brought her jaws together with a snap 
which seemed to bar further conversation. But presently she 
continued peevishly: 

“Where’s dat lazy Button? Ef he comes in retch er my 
crutch ergin I lay, I’ll make him limp fer sup’n!” 

There was bad blood between Mammy and her grandson 
just then on account of the excursion. Button had been work- 
ing, begging and saving for months to get the two dollars 
necessary to pay his fare on the boat; and just as he had com- 
pleted the sum a few days before, Mammy had descended upon 
him, confiscated his money, and left him sore in many places 
besides his feelings. As the situation now stood — Button’s 
money locked up safe in Mammy’s chest, the boat many .miles 
down the river, and himself high and dry on land — it was but 
natural that he should take advantage of the old woman’s 
lameness to get even; at least, so Mammy reasoned. Jean ex- 
plained that she had sent him to make a fire in the dining room. 

“Well,” said Mammy, “I’ll jes hatter set here he’pless de- 
whiles dese rolls burns ter a cripse; den dere’ll be jawin’ 
nough in de house, I boun’ you.” 

Jean hastened to put in her offer of help. 

“I reckon you wants ter burn yo’se’f an’ have Miss on my 
bones about it!” said the old woman in a tone of profound 
resignation as she pointed to a long hickory stick charred at 
one end. Jean took it for a lever and raised the lid of the oven. 
The rolls were white, as Mammy very well knew, but they had 
risen to the top of the oven; and under Mammy’s direction 
she put more fire both over and under them. Then she had to 


26 


AN AWAKENING 


open the skillet where the chicken was “smotherin\” By this 
time she was weeping copiously. Mammy looked at ner grimly 
and said: 

“I reckon you wouldn’t know ef de table was ready ef you 
was ter see hit?” 

This was hint enough, and Jean skipped away to the dining 
room. She and Button made many trips back and forth; but at 
last with a glowing face she saw her mother sit down by a 
comfortable fire to a smoking breakfast. 

When it was over, Jean undertook to wash the dishes — 
something at which she had often assisted Noona — while But- 
ton went to help Mammy to the cow pen. In a few minutes 
he came running in to say that Mammy had fallen and couldn’t 
get up. Jean ran out, and between them they got the poor 
old woman to her room and into bed. Nursing the sick was a 
new business to Jean, but she went earnestly to work helping 
Button apply hot bricks and cloths to Mammy’s aches and 
pains. She groaned and moaned piteously. 

“Oh me! Oh my po’ back! Oh my po’ marster’s chillun! 
What’s I gwine do — fer sup’n her — fer ’em ter eat? Button — 
you run down yan — an’ ax Sis Malwiny — ter come up here 
— an’ cook some wittles — fer dese whi’ fokes ter eat.” 

Button made several vain trips after help; all the cooks had 
either gone on the excursion or taken the places of others who 
had. 

“What shall I do?” cried Mammy in dismay. “Here’s all 
dese niggers gwine galliwantin’ round de country an’ dese 
chillun gwine starve.” 

Jean was touched by the old servant’s thoughtfulness and 
said with all the cheerfulness she could command: 

“Don’t worry about us, Mammy; I’ll cook some dinner — 
with Button’s help.” But Mammy raised her hands and eyes 
in indignant protest, exclaiming: 


AN AWAKENING 


27 


“Oh my sakes! Whi’ fokes is gittin’ dat biggitty dey thinks 
dey can do any thing!” 

“But I really can,” persisted Jean. “I learned from Aunt 
Bruce when I was at Mock Orange. She and her girls can 
cook as well as you.” 

Mammy sniffed the air scornfully and said: 

“Oh shucks! dey ain’t got no sense!” 

Jean felt that Mammy was abusing the occasion and must 
be taught a lesson, so she said with all the dignity she could 
borrow from mamma: 

“You are getting disrespectful now, and you should know 
better.” 

“Oh, I’m talkin’ ’bout cookin’ sense!” said Mammy, un- 
daunted. “Course whi’ fokes is got all de book sense an’ all de 
nonsense, but I ain’t never seen one yit got any cookin’ sense.” 
Really Mammy’s conceit was insufferable, so Jean replied with 
great superiority: 

“Of course it is very natural that a person who can do only 
one thing should imagine that others can’t do the same; but 
any intelligent person can cook. Now I am going to cook din- 
ner to-day and I don’t want any interference from you.” And 
she marched out loftily. But Mammy wasn’t at all overawed 
and called after her derisively: 

“G’long, Button, an’ wait on dat New Erleans cook, an’ min’ 
you, don’t forgit ter fetch me some o’ de turkle soup!” 

The “New Erleans cook” began to have many misgivings as 
she reflected that all the cooking she had ever seen done was 
on a stove, while now she had to work over a fireplace as tall 
as herself. But, she reasoned, there was Button, and surely 
one good-sized boy ought to be equal to a stove ; any way she 
couldn’t afford to turn back now after having snubbed Mammy 
so severely. The bill of fare was not hard to decide upon; she 
had several times helped to prepare vegetables for soup at 
Mock Orange, and she knew that rice had only to be put on 


28 


AN AWAKENING 


and let alone; so soup and rice it should be. Button was real 
smart, and whenever she didn’t know what to do, told her. He 
soon had the fire made and the pot on the rack boiling away 
cheerfully. 

Really, it was good fun to get into the kitchen and cook and 
mess around as one pleased, and it was just too conceited in 
Mammy to think that anybody couldn’t cook who had the 
mind to. After a time all the vegetables were in and the pot 
was bubbling away as if Mammy herself were “at the throttle.” 
The new cook was so pleased that she lifted the lid to watch the 
rich marrow fat gather on the top; as she did so a puff of steam 
flew at her without any warning, and burned her face and 
hands. She jumped, and the lid seized the favorable oppor- 
tunity to tilt up and blister her arm; this was just disgusting, 
and after that she let Button do the lifting. She and he differed 
about the time to put the thickening into the soup, but to be 
certain that it had time to get thoroughly done, she added it 
soon after the vegetables. 

In the midst of her greatest care and labor, the kitchen was 
invaded by Duke, Alice, Archie, and Kit. 

“Now, children, you mustn’t come in here and bother; for 
I’m just as busy as can be — cooking dinner,” said Jean author- 
itatively. 

“I’ll go if you will let me wipe the dishes and set the table,” 
said Alice. 

“Do, Alice, that’s a good girl. I had forgotten them entirely. 
Be sure to put the soup plates down!” she called after her as she 
skipped out. 

But Duke was not to be so easily gotten rid of. There had 
long been open war between him and Mammy and he was de- 
termined to take the present opportunity to raid the enemy’s 
camp. 

“Now, Duke, please take the children and go along to play; 
you don’t know what hard work it is to cook!” pleaded Jean. 


AN AWAKENING 


29 


Without replying Duke climbed into a chair and began over- 
hauling things in the cupboard. 

“Hello! this is cinnamon,” he said, as he opened a can and 
began to fill his pockets. 

“Don’t, Duke! Don’t bother the kitchen; Mammy will be 
furious!” Jean remonstrated. 

“Oh, I’m not going to> hurt her old kitchen. Button, what is 
in them cans on the top shelf?” he said, going on with his in- 
spection. 

“Dat’s spice and ginger an’ things fer making cakes,” said 
Button. 

“I say, Jean, I’ll tell you what you do,” said her brother, 
turning around with a bright idea; “you make some cakes; 
will you now? If you will, I’ll take Arch and Kit off and not 
bother any more.” 

“O, Duke, I don’t know how; I never made any in my life!” 

“But Button knows and he’ll show you; won’t you, Button?” 

“If I will, will you go off?” 

“Yes, and take us all.” 

“And not come back — not once?” 

“No, not once,” protested Duke, hustling the younger ones 
out. 

Tired and hot, but resolute, Jean began the cakes. It was a 
venture in the dark; she knew Button had seen it done many 
times and she followed his directions, putting in much or little 
of this or that as he said. When she had gotten her hands 
well into the meshes of the dough and was wondering if she 
would ever get loose, Duke called from a safe distance in the 
yard : 

“Ain’t they done yet, Jean?” 

She went to the door, holding up hands which looked as if 
they were encased in boxing gloves and said reproachfully: 

“Now, Duke, you said you wouldn’t bother!” 

“But ain’t they nearly done?” 


30 


AN AWAKENING 


“No, I’m just beginning them,” she said discouragingly, and 
he went back to play. As she struggled and perspired in her 
efforts to get the dough to stick to something besides her 
hands, Duke’s face appeared at the window near her and he 
said coaxingly: 

“I sav, Jean, when they are done, are you going to lock ’em 
up or put ’em on the sideboard?” 

“If you’ll do as you promised, I’ll put ’em on the sideboard; 
but if you don’t, I’ll lock ’em up,” Jean answered crossly, 
and he disappeared once more. 

By the help of dry flour and a plenty of it, she at last got the 
cakes rolled and cut. They were very white and had lots of 
lumps in them, but otherwise looked very nice — quite like 
Mammy’s. As she was putting the first batch into the oven, 
Duke said teasinglv from the door: 

“Say, Jean, while vou are at it, suppose you make enough 
to take to Europe with you — for your lunch, you know!” As 
Jean raised a flushed and angry face he saw the cakes going 
into the oven and concluding that it was time to “behave,” ran 
away. Button, who really understood the ovens very well and - 
whose enthusiasm was enlisted for the cakes, soon pronounced 
the first batch done. It took a great deal of scraping and 
brushing to get the extra flour off, and even then they looked 
rather mottled, but Jean was pleased and ran to the dining 
room to get a plate to send some in hot to her mother. As 
she opened the door, Alice, who was standing bodily upon the 
sideboard, started, lost her balance and fell, clutching wildly at 
the glass and silverware around her. Jean clapped her hands 
to her ears as Alice and the dishes struck the floor with a crash. 
The mother was in the room almost in the next instant and 
she and Jean picked up the wounded, bore her off the field, and 
deposited her on a lounge in the mother’s room. A pile of 
evergreen boughs and some late roses on the side table told the 
tale. Alice, who was fond of decorating, had concluded to 


AN AWAKENING 


31 


give the table a festive air, and had climbed up to get the 
flower dishes when Jean’s abrupt entrance startled her. For- 
tunately she had no broken bones and no cuts, only a big 
bump on the side of her head. 

“It was all Jean’s fault! She is to blame for it all; she sent 
me in there to set the table and then ran in and scared me!” 
she wailed, as they bathed her fast swelling head and held the 
camphor bottle to her nose. 

“Hush, dear! it wasn’t anybody’s fault. You were both 
doing what you did to help me,” said the mother, and she added 
in dismay: “Jean, we can’t eat in there now; the children will 
cut themselves on the broken glass!” 

“Don’t worry about that, Mamma. I’ll send your dinner in 
here and we can eat in the kitchen; that will save me a good 
deal of walking, too.” 

“But I won’t eat in the kitchen!” said Alice, recovering 
suddenly. 

“Then you’ll do without, Miss; won’t she, Mamma?” Jean 
returned sharply. 

“Hush, children! Do let me have a little peace! And, Jean, 
what time will dinner he ready?” 

Jean turned to the clock enquiringly, and was astonished to 
find that it was past two; it was surprising how much time 
cooking occupied. Then she remembered that Mammy had 
not eaten any breakfast, and she rushed out to' send the fam- 
ishing woman some dinner. 

The soup pot had not received any attention since the cakes 
had been on hand, but on raising the lid Jean felt her heart 
swell with pride. Remembering that broth was considered best 
for sick people, she carefully dipped off some of the top with- 
out disturbing the vegetables below. The tray looked so 
tempting when she had added some rice and hot cakes that she 
couldn’t refrain from carrying it herself. Mammy’s conceit 
would certainly be quenched now! 


32 


AN AWAKENING 


Mammy looked very weak, but sat up as she went in. To 
the new cook’s eager mind she sat cooling the soup a very long 
time ; at last, however, she lifted a spoonful to her mouth. 
As the lips closed over the fluid and it went trickling down her 
long throat, one of Mammy’s eyes suddenly closed itself vio- 
lently while the other stared blankly at the white waitress. 
Jean was alarmed, for she had often heard of people being 
suddenly paralyzed in one side; but the next moment the 
spoon came down and Mammy went on eating, though neither 
eye relaxed its strange attitude. When the last spoonful had 
disappeared, Mammy drew a long breath and expelled it with 
a loud “phew!” then lay down with the perspiration bursting 
from every pore. 

“Now, chile,” she said feebly, “I’m gwine put dese cakes 
under my hade ontwel I gits hongry ergin. Is Miss done had 
’er dinner?” 

“Not yet,” Jean answered. 

“Well, you warm some o’ dem wafers in de box an’ take up 
dat piece o’ chicken outen de skillet, an’ dat, wid some o’ de 
rice and cakes, an’ some o’ de soup, ’ll make her a mighty good 
dinner.” 

Jean had expected some word, if not of praise, at least in 
retraction of the hard things Mammy had said. But she stood 
too much in awe of the old woman’s tongue to set it agoing 
voluntarily; and after lingering some moments in the hope that 
Mammy would express herself, she went out disappointed. 

When the tray for the mother was ready, she sent it in by 
Button and hastily arranged the table for herself and the chil- 
dren. They came trooping in half-starved before she had 
finished dishing out the soup, however. Duke was the first to 
get to his plate, and after swallowing the first spoonful, he 
exclaimed : 

“Phew-ew! Jean, gimme a cake to take the taste out!” 

“No,” said his sister firmly, as she settled Kit in her chair, 


AN AWAKENING 


33 


“you are just trying to make your dinner of cakes, but you 
are not going to do it. You must eat your soup first.” 

“But what’s the matter with it? Just taste it yourself!” 

She did so, thinking it was one of Duke’s teases, but found it 
as bitter as gall. Running to the pot, she scooped the ladle to 
the bottom and brought up — a mass of stuff burned black! 

“Now I’ll have to eat cakes!” said Duke joyfully, making a 
dive at the plate .which stood in the middle of the table. 

“No,” said Jean, trying to head him off, “you must eat some 
rice first.” 

But Duke was too quick for her; he secured a handful, and 
dodging under the table just as she thought she had him, ran 
out of the door and stood grinning triumphantly while she 
went back to Kit. He was thoroughly in the humor to tease 
now and began on Kit. 

“I wouldn’t eat that old rice, Kit, if I were you. See here; 
I eat cakes while Jean makes you eat rice!” and holding up a 
cake, he bit it into a crescent while Kit looked on with a grow- 
ing sense of wrong. But the next moment he was coughing 
and spitting and begging for water. Jean paid no attention to 
him and he made a dash for the bucket, but she caught him 
and put him out. As he stood blowing his breath through his 
mouth to cool it, while the tears ran down his cheeks, he cried : 

“Just look at Kit eating at the darkie’s table! Oho! Kit’s 
turning to a darkie!” 

“No!” shouted Kit, springing up in her chair and throwing 
her glass at him. Spoon, plate, and fork followed it in rapid 
succession, and then stepping upon the table she seized a 
handful of cakes and threw them too. Duke made a grab at 
the plate, too, and cakes began to rain all around. Jean tried 
to stop first Duke and then Kit, but neither paid any attention 
to her except to keep out of her reach; and she rushed to the 
house to bring her mother. When she reached the mother’s 
room, however, a sight met her eyes that made her forget 


34 


AN AWAKENING 


all about what was going on in the kitchen. The mother was 
sitting by the lounge with the tray in her lap feeding Alice, who 
turned a triumphant smile upon Jean as she came in. 

“Now, Mamma! That’s not fair! You are just making a 
servant of me for Alice!” Jean cried in a burst of anger. 

“Why, my child! you certainly don’t object to my sharing — ” 
But Jean didn’t wait to hear any more; away through the hall 
and up the attic steps she fled and cast herself down in a tem- 
pest of tears and sobs, reckless as to what went on anywhere 
downstairs. When her anger had spent itself, she dropped to 
sleep and awoke an hour later with the idea that some one had 
called her. She raised her head and peeped out cautiously be- 
tween the red calico curtains which shaded her window. Duke, 
Archie, Kit, and Button were playing on the grass under the 
pines outside. She wondered if they were not ravenously 
hungry, and concluded that they must have eaten the rice, of 
which there was about five times as much as she had intended 
to cook. 

As she watched them, she heard her name called, this time 
distinctly, and looking over the orchard into the next yard, she 
saw a group of boys and girls, and remembered that she had 
been invited to go over and learn the new game of croquet. 
The girls looked cool and fresh in their white dresses and invol- 
untarily she glanced down at her own streaked and spotted 
skirt. Her eyes she knew were swollen and red and her hands 
felt stiff and were blistered in several places. 

They were waiting for her; for they kept calling her, and in a 
few minutes Louis Matthews climbed the orchard fences and 
came into the yard. He was the oldest of the boys who asso- 
ciated with Jean’s set of girls, and having long ago discarded 
roundabouts for real coats, was looked upon as quite a young 
man. 

The listener in the attic heard him ask for her; she didn’t 
catch Duke’s reply, but heard Louis say: 


AN AWAKENING 


35 


“Cooking!” She knew it was all coming now, and held her 
breath to listen. 

“Yes!” said Duke, screwing up his face, “and you just ought 
to have been here — if you wasn’t hungry; it was the biggest 
fun! Wasn't it, Button?” and he and Button laughed gleefully. 

“There wasn't anything but rice and soup,” Duke went on 
eagerly, “and she made some ginger snaps out of red pepper; 
didn't she, Button?” 

“She did dat!” said Button, doubling himself together con- 
vulsively and rolling over and over, laughing till every gleam- 
ing tooth in his head could be seen. 

“And she tried to make us eat in the kitchen because Alice 
fell off the sideboard and broke glass all over the floor. And 
when I tasted the soup it was all bitter — u-ugh ! And I would- 
n’t eat it, and she tried to make me eat rice because there was 
lots and lots of that; but I snatched some snaps and ran out 
and got pepper all in my mouth. And when she wouldn’t let 
me have any water, I teased Kit and she got on the table and 
we had a battle with snaps; didn’t we, Button? And Jean ran 
off crying, and hasn’t come back yet; has she, Button?” 

Louis didn’t join in the burst by which Duke and Button re- 
lieved their overcharged risibles, but stood looking down at 
them gravely; Archie, too, sat by with a troubled face, but Kit 
was uproarious. 

“Go and tell her I have come for her to play croquet,” Louis 
said to Button. 

“Oh, but she won’t go,” put in Duke, “because her dress is 
dirty, and her face is smutty, and her eyes are red, and she’s 
got flour all in her hair and — and — she’s in a terrible tantrum; 
ain’t she, Button?” 

Jean waited to hear no more, but dropped back and cried 
with mortification. Never in her life had she heard it said that 
it was degrading to cook, but something in the very at- 
mosphere in which she had always lived made her want to 


36 


AN AWAKENING 


conceal her morning’s work; and now to think that Louis, of 
all people, had the whole history — and in such a light! Her 
tears fell thick and fast at this thought, but exhausted them- 
selves after a while. Then she thought of Mammy Lily-Rose, 
and then with a gasp of the bitter soup. Oh, how the old 
woman would gloat over her! She cringed as she thought of 
it and resolved never to go near her again. After a while she 
got up and went down to bathe her face and write Annie 
Matthews a note. 

As she was passing her mother’s room the door opened and 
her mother’s voice said excitedly: 

“Jean, what was the matter with that horrible soup?” 

“It was scorched,” she answered, trying to speak in a matter- 
of-fact tone. 

“Oh! was that all? It occurred to me just now that probably 
you had gotten some poisonous weed into it and I ought to 
send for the doctor. Did any one eat any of it?” 

“Nobody except Mammy, and she ate a plateful.” 

“Have you been to see about her since?” the mother asked 
uneasily. Jean said: 

“No’m,” reluctantly; and the mother continued: 

“Then you’d better go at once; for if she was really sick, it 
may have thrown her into violent cramps.” 

There really seemed to be nothing left but to face Mammy’s 
scorn and Jean turned unwillingly to go. Then it occurred to 
her that if Mammy were very sick she wouldn’t be likely to 
make fun, and she ran as fast as she could, fearful that she had 
done the poor old woman some mortal harm. There was no 
response to her knock and when she went in there was no vis- 
ible sign of Mammy except a long ridge which ran up the bed 
and ended in a high tower of cover just where one would have 
expected to see the old woman’s head. Jean walked around 
the fortification looking for some weak point to attack, but 
finding no sign of life, she said in a voice by no means steady: 


AN AWAKENING 


37 


“Mammy! Mammy, are you sick? Has that horrible soup 
thrown you into cramps ?” 

“Hugh! Who said dat wasn’t good soup?” said Mammy 
savagely, thrusting her head out from under the very pinnacle 
of the tower. 

“Mamma,” said Jean, beginning to cry. “And, oh Mammy! 
it was; for I forgot to stir it and the vegetables all bu — bu — 
burnt to the bottom.” 

“Well, what’s de diffunce ’tween dat an’ me sco’chin’ de 
flour ter thicken it wid, I like ter know? An’ ef I forgit ter 
sco’ch de flour, I don’t hear de las’ o’ hit soon, I boun’ you!” 

Mammy had come into the family through the first Mrs. 
Conway and had never even made a pretense of becoming 
reconciled to the two succeeding mistresses. 

“An’ chile,” she continued in a confidential tone as she rose 
upon her elbow and shook a long, knotty forefinger, “dat ar 
red pepper what you put in dem snaps done kyord my stomich 
plum up; dat it did, mon! All de mawnin’ I been had sich a 
misery in my stomich dat I ain’t scacely knowed my own 
name, but dem snaps kyord it too quick ter talk erbout. Has 
you thought ’bout what you gwine git fer supper?” she added 
cheerfully. 

Jean hadn’t once thought of supper and at mention of it her 
countenance fell; but Mammy went on confidently to advise her 
to get some baker’s bread for toast and have tea and preserves. 

“Not dat I sets much sto’ by baker brade,” she explained; 
“but yit it do make mighty good toas’; an’ you need’n min’ 
’bout tryin’ to make ernough ter fill up dat ornery Juke, case 
it’s bout de same as pokin’ wittles down a rat hole ter feed ’im 
any how. You jes make ernough fer you an’ Miss an’ de other 
chillun, an’ let him fill up on de raw cotton.” 

When Jean got outside of Mammy’s door, she leaned against 
the wall and shook with a long, silent laugh; for all the time 
the old servant had been talking, on the floor where they had 


38 


AN AWAKENING 


fallen unknown to her, lay the cakes that had worked the won- 
derful cure, untouched. 

Thanks to Mammy’s advice, the supper was more palatable 
than the dinner had been; and next morning Aunt Malvina 
came and took the old woman’s place till she was up again. 

Jean wasn’t a bit deceived by Mammy’s generous attempt to 
cover up her miserable failure, but the affair had revealed the 
white girl and the old servant to each other in a new light, and 
was the foundation of a friendship which one of them remem- 
bered with gratitude for many, many years. 

After that it was surprising how fast Mammy’s cooking 
sense deserted her; she soon got so she couldn’t even ‘stir up’ 
a cake without having the ingredients weighed out for her; 
and on Saturdays she was always sending in to know if Jean 
couldn’t help her about something. And Jean was always glad 
to go. Mammy let her take a hand in anything that was going 
on, and gradually through the process of absorption — possibly 
also through the development of the sixth sense — she learned to 
cook ; not in the thrifty, labor-saving style of the modern cook- 
ing school, but after the laborious though rich and delicate 
fashion of the Southern Mammy. 

Like old people generally, the old servant was fond of talk- 
ing of the past. She would dwell for hours on the former 
grandeur of the family, their sumptuous way of living, their 
lavish hospitality, their generosity, and the happy, care-free 
lives of all, even the dependents. But she always ended by 
bewailing their fallen fortunes with all the fervor of a personal 
grief. 

“Ah, chile!” she would say despairingly, “you don’t remem- 
ber dem days like I does an’ I reckon it’s mighty well you 
don’t; case it jes breaks my ole heart ter see how our fambly 
is come down. But de Lawd — He knows; an’ He pulls down 
de high an’ raises up de poly.” 

“But, Mammy,” said Jean one day after listening to the same 


AN AWAKENING 


39 


many times, “why did He do it?” If the piece of dough that 
she was pinching and punching so mercilessly had risen up 
and asked why she was using it so, the old woman couldn't 
have been more astonished. 

“Ah Lawd!” she exclaimed, reverently raising her hands 
and eyes, “does You hear dat? White fokes been had deir 
own way so long till now dey axes You 'why’!” and she looked 
at Jean as if she were something strange, shaking her head 
from side to side and muttering now and then, “Humph, 
humph, humph!” 

“But,” said Jean, in an apologetic tone, “He must have 
reasons; He is so good — ” 

“Chile,” said the old woman, coming close and shaking her 
long forefinger impressively, “don’t begin ter ax no why- 
fores o’ de Lawd, beease He ain’t gwine answer you. Jes say 
ter yo’se’f, ‘He done it an’ dat makes it right,’ an’ you’ll keep 
outen a sight o’ trouble.” 

This arbitrary reasoning didn’t satisfy Jean, but she knew it 
was useless to argue with Mammy. It was an idle question, 
idly asked as she sat swinging her feet from Mammy’s table 
and chewing gum; and she little thought it was one which 
would echo painfully through her young life till she had 
wrought out the answer along the hard path of duty. 


CHAPTER IV. 


UPS AND DOWNS — 

ESPECIALLY DOWNS 

WO years passed monotonously. 
Conway grew shabbier; but still 
it was in good company and was 
none the less dear to the girls 
and boys growing into gangling 
youths beneath its roof. The 
steady decline in their fortunes 
had been so gradual as to bring 
no heartaches; in all things they 
continued to be about as their 
neighbors and so felt no great 
reverses. 

But in the spring of the third 
year, misfortune seemed to single 
them out. Noona’s husband 
took her from service, and her absence made many gaps in the 
family’s comfort where her agency had not been suspected. 
The family had scarcely gotten accustomed to doing without 
her when Button robbed his grandmother’s chest and ran away. 
Mammy Lily-Rose, who had been a miser all her life, was 
heartbroken over the loss of her money and her grandson and 
began to fail rapidly. Many times, when worried bv Duke’s 
pranks, the old woman had rushed into Mrs. Conway’s room 
and given notice that she was going to leave, “gwine run,” as 

( 40 ) 




Mammy Lily- Rose 



UPS AND DOWNS 


41 


she phrased it ; at first this proceeding produced a panic, but it 
soon came to be understood that Mammy was as anxious as 
any one to have her “notices” entirely ignored, and after a 
while they came to be only a matter of form. So when death 
came at last, one bright morning, it found her still in the serv- 
ice of her former owners. When they laid the worn old body 
away, they thought they appreciated her, but as the years went 
by, the girls, N at least, felt more and more that they had not 
realized the true value of her devoted services. 

When another cook had to be hired, the mother said: 

“Oh, Jean! I can’t undertake to cope with an outsider; I 
would never have any more peace, I know. You attend to it 
for me, won’t you?” And so with little ceremony the manage- 
ment of the household fell upon Jean. 

As misfortunes never come singly, in the midst of a pro- 
longed rain, that spring, the superintendent of the plantation, 
which was in an adjoining state, came with the news that the 
place was under water and the crop, stock, fences, and supplies 
had all been washed away. The break in the levee, which kept 
the swollen river in bounds had occurred at night and the 
occupants of the place had escaped with only their lives. The 
man was worn out and discouraged; for he had left his family 
destitute and had ridden day and night to bring the tidings and 
get assistance. Mrs. Conway directed him to Judge Bruce 
and went to bed sick. After having started the man back with 
food for the immediate relief of the sufferers, Judge Bruce 
came to town. 

The disaster was more ruinous than such accidents usually 
were on account of its coming so late in the season. Before 
the flood could subside and the land dry sufficiently, it would 
be too late to replant the crop. As was usual with planters 
who had land and stock, but no ready money, the crop had 
been mortgaged before it was planted to a commission mer- 
chant, for supplies for the plantation and for the family sup- 


42 


UPS AND DOWNS 


port; and now that there was no hope of a crop, but a debt 
instead, things looked gloomy indeed. 

The judge’s face was serious as he passed back and forth be- 
tween Mrs. Conway’s sick room and the merchant’s office, and 
finally indignant as well. He had offered a mortgage upon the 
land to secure the debt already made and to provide for the 
support of the family till the place could be made productive 
again; but Mr. Beard, the merchant, refused any arrangement 
except with a mortgage upon Conway as a basis. He had 
recently moved to the town after having made a fortune at his 
business in another state and Judge Bruce suspected that he 
wished to get hold of the Conway home before the coming of 
the railroad which was expected to enhance the value of prop- 
erty. The judge advised Mrs. Conway not to give the lien 
upon the home and Jean and Alice sustained him with pas- 
sionate entreaties. At last Mr. Beard yielded in SO' far as to 
accept the mortgage upon the plantation, but he stipulated 
that he was to furnish the family only plantation supplies, in 
plain language, only bread and meat. These were hard terms, 
because Mr. Beard would not have asked them of any one else 
and would not have asked them of Mrs. Conway under other 
circumstances; they were hard also because with his claim 
hanging over it, no other merchant would accept the land as 
security for advances. 

Fortunately the groceries had been laid in early in the year 
and the full force of the restriction of their credit didn’t come 
upon the family at once. 

But as the session waned and commencement approached, 
Jean was in a dilemma; this was to be the year of her gradua- 
tion, the time that she looked forward to through so many 
years of hard study and self-denial; and now as the time came 
near, the money to meet the necessary expenses was utterly 
beyond her reach. 

The one great pride of Jean’s town was the culture of its 


UPS AND DOWNS 


43 


people. Shut away from the rest of the world, it lived a life of 
its own and regarded intellectual superiority as the aim and end 
of existence. Its people lived in the past; they read the classics 
instead of the great daily newspapers and discussed such ques- 
tions as the authorship of the Junius letters and the identity of 
the man in the iron mask with more interest than they gave 
to mere passing events. Its schools and colleges formed the 
center of its social life and their influence extended to its out- 
most circles; their teachers graced every entertainment given 
in its handsome but now dilapidated homes, and their con- 
certs and literary contests took the places of theatre and opera. 
The great interest of the year centered on commencement; it 
was then that absent members of families came home, friends 
paid visits, and strangers from all parts of the state filled the 
hotels. The graduates were objects of general interest and 
they made lavish preparations for the occasion. 

For a girl to leave school on the eve of the graduation of 
her class was for her to acknowledge herself defeated in the 
effort of her life and to suffer irreparable loss in the estima- 
tion of her townspeople. Yet this seemed to be the only course 
now open to Jean; for after overhauling her last year’s regalia, 
she saw that it was not even a question of appearing shabbily 
dressed: a trying-on revealed the fact that she had done too 
much growing in the past year for her own good. Silently and 
ignominiously to drop out of the class was all she could do and 
that involved the wreck of all her hopes ; in doing it, too, there 
wouldn’t be the comfort of a good honest confession of the 
cause; for pride, mountain high and as inexorable as the laws 
of the Medes and Persians, forbade these once society leaders 
t*o acknowledge themselves financially embarrassed. 

Jean was well-nigh sick over the prospect, when one morning 
there came a messenger from Mock Orange, bringing a letter 
marked “Private and valuable.” Wondering if her old friend 
could have thought of her trouble and have discovered some 


44 


UPS AND DOWNS 


way to help her, she tore the envelope open. Enclosing a fifty 
dollar bill was a note which read : 

‘‘My Dear Little Woman: 

“Forty odd years ago, for want of a better, I was about to 
graduate in the rusty suit I had worn all year, when my friend 
and classmate, Francis Conway, from whom I had just car- 
ried off the honors, came to my room and in the name of our 
friendship begged me to accept one hundred dollars from him. 

“That gift, bestowed without condescension and accepted 
without humiliation, was the seal of our lifelong friendship; 
and though in after years the time often was when I could have 
paid it an hundred fold without inconvenience, the subject 
was never again mentioned between us. 

“You are the first and only person who has ever been made 
acquainted with the incident. In the same spirit, child, I ask 
you to accept the enclosed from your oldest friend, 

“SAMUEL BRUCE.” 

Jean took the letter to her mother and together they had a 
little cry over it; then she wrote an answer that brought tears 
to Judge Bruce’s eyes, it was so much like his old boy-friend. 

This done, she set about meting out her little treasure. The 
tulle and satin over which the other girls were all agog were 
out of the question, and not knowing what else to do she went 
to consult Noona. 

“Oh, Miss Jean! let me make your graduating dress; I’ll be 
so proud,” said that faithful friend when the case had been 
laid before her. “I saw Mrs. Matthews the other day, and she 
says you are sure to get the honors, and with the honors I 
wouldn’t care if I didn’t have a fine dress. Bring me some mull 
and that bundle of lace out of Miss Lina’s trunk and you shall 
have a pretty dress anyhow. No, don’t come; I’ll bring it and 


UPS AND DOWNS 


45 


fit it. Just do your best to get the honors and leave the rest to 
me.” 

Greatly relieved, Jean went home, to find her mother in a 
state of nervous excitement. 

“My dear,” she said, “you will have to let me have five 
dollars of your money for that negro in the kitchen. She 
came in here to-day and browbeat me about her wages till I 
almost had a spasm. I want you to discharge her and get 
another. After such faithful, considerate servants as I’ve had, 
it will kill me to have to deal with such.” And poor Jean's 
summer hat had to go to pay the new cook’s wages. 

For more than a week before the close of the term, the old 
schoolhouse in the midst of its giant oaks was the scene of 
the liveliest bustle. Friends were coming and going, attending 
the examinations. Little groups collected about the halls and 
porches to discuss or predict outcomes. Undergraduates 
rushed into each other’s arms to congratulate or console, as 
the case might require. Piles of evergreens about the yard 
and the sound of hammers and hum of merry voices in the 
concert hall told of preparations for the grand event going on 
in there. The senior room was the center of greatest attrac- 
tion; for the honors hung in the scale there. 

The first morning of the senior “exams,” besides the judges, 
who were most of them teachers in the other schools, there was 
present a distinguished stranger, a Dr. Parks, who was con- 
nected with a famous woman’s college. He was an old in- 
structor of Professor Dearing’s and had been invited to deliver 
the address to the graduating class; Professor Dearing adding 
to the invitation the promise to show him some good work in 
the line in which they were both interested. 

For the first half hour the white-robed class sat tremblingly 
answering the questions put to them; then the critical moment 
came and the teacher said: 

“Miss Conway go to the board.” 


46 


UPS AND DOWNS 


Without one look behind, Jean got up and with shaking 
fingers wrote down the figures as they were read out. When 
the teacher ceased to read, her eyes were attracted to a group 
in the yard, and she wondered if old Mrs. Hopkins’ little dog 
would ever quit that absent-minded way of running on three 
legs ; then glancing around the room she was startled to see so 
many people and turned quickly to the board. But alas! the 
figures had lost their significance; sin. and cos. had no more 
meaning than the funny little daubs on her Japanese fan. For 
full twenty seconds she strove to remember what she was to 
do, but she was conscious only of the many pairs of eyes be- 
hind her, which seemed all to focus right between her shoulders 
and to be sending an electric shock through her. 

“I can’t do it, Professor,” she said at last in a husky voice. 

“Why, Miss Jean, I never saw you stumble over a simple 
thing like that before; you have solved that problem without 
the least difficulty several times,” said the astonished teacher. 

“I know I have, but I have forgotten all about it now,” she 
replied. 

“Well, take your seat,” said Professor Dearing, trying to 
conceal his mortification behind a businesslike tone. With a 
burning face Jean turned from the board, and as she sat down 
a tremor swept over the class. 

“Oh! he needn’t call me up there; I am beaten already,” 
sobbed a hysterical girl next her. 

“Miss Ezelle!” said the teacher, and a fat, phlegmatic girl 
arose. She was one of those who learn with difficulty and find 
it hard to express themselves, but who generally retain what 
they acquire. 

Jean leaned her arm on the back of her seat and buried her 
face on it. For one awful moment she faced the ruin of all 
her hopes and plans ; then came the recollection of her friends. 
First Uncle Bruce’s mortified face came up before her; he was 
in the audience, and though she had not lifted her eyes from 


UPS AND DOWNS 


47 


the floor in taking her seat, she knew how he looked, and oh! 
how it hurt her! And mamma! And last, but not least, dear, 
devoted Noona! Then like an inspiration came the wish — no, 
the determination to retrieve. And while Mattie Ezelle wrote 
down her problem, Jean went back in her mind to the first 
page of her book and endeavored to recall the processes of its 
reasoning. The noises in the room disturbed her and she 
placed her hands over her ears. At first it was like beating 
against a solid wall in the dark; but she had not schooled her- 
self to put aside tempting thoughts of travel and sight-seeing 
and to hold her mind to its work during all these years for no 
purpose; and now by a supreme effort of will she held herself 
to the search. At last it began to come back, bit by bit, slowly 
and painfully at first, then in great flashes of light. As Mattie 
finished and turned to give the explanation, she rose and said 
in a clear voice: 

“I can work that now, Professor; indeed, I can solve them 
all.” 

“Very well, go back to the board,” he answered in a matter- 
of-fact way. “Stop,” he added, as she picked up the chalk. 
“Rub that out and I’ll give you another. I suppose that will 
have to be counted as a failure?” and he glanced enquiringly 
at the judges. Jean turned appealingly, saying: 

“Let me work it; you will see that I understand it perfectly! 
I was only frightened a while ago. I am willing to work twice 
as many as you give the others; indeed I will go through the 
whole book if you will give me time.” 

“I think,” said Dr. Bardwell, “that as Miss Jean had the 
trying position of being the first called to the board that she 
should have the opportunity to demonstrate that she was suf- 
fering from nervousness, and not from lack of knowledge.” 

The other judges agreed with him and Professor Dearing 
told her to go on. And while Mattie labored to make coherent 
the explanation she herself understood perfectly, Jean, with a 


48 


UPS AND DOWNS 


bright red spot in each cheek and a steady glowing light in her 
eyes, worked neatly, swiftly, unerringly, and at last announced 
her answer and gave her explanation in a clear, concise man- 
ner. A weight seemed lifted off the class, and once more the 
trembling flock breathed freely; even Mattie caught the in- 
spiration and gave her next explanation clearly. From that 
time, Jean’s restoration was complete; for a week, she spent 
morning after morning demonstrating to what good purpose 
she had studied. 

One day, as she stood, chalk in hand, waiting for another 
theorem to be given her, Dr. Parks leaned forward and said: 

“I would like to give you one that isn’t in your book, Miss 
Conway/’ 

“I am willing to try it, but don’t expect too much of me,” 
she replied; and writing it down as he gave it, she proceeded 
to draw the figure which suggested a solution. The course of 
reasoning seemed plain, but upon attempting it she soon came 
to a gap. Running over in her mind all the theorems which 
seemed to bear upon this one, she was disappointed to find a 
clue in none of them. Where had she seen a link that would 
fit into this chain? Shutting out all thought of what was going 
on around her, she gave herself to the search for the missing 
round in the ladder. Ah, there it was — a little corollary at the 
bottom of a long string of them. 

“Is this correct?” she asked of the doctor, who had seemed 
to turn his attention from her. As she proceeded with the 
demonstration he nodded and smiled and his handsome eyes 
sparkled through his gold-rimmed glasses as he said: 

“I’ve seen some much riper scholars than yourself puzzled 
over that.” 


CHAPTER V. 



JEAN ENLISTS 

HEN Jean took her place before 
the “sea of upturned faces” on 
graduating night, she felt no re- 
gret over the marked plainness 
fp of her dress in contrast with the 
others. Noona had done a beau- 
tiful piece of work and produced 
a dainty dress of an unpretending 
girlish style that was very be- 
coming to the wearer. 

It had come to be pretty well 
settled in the public mind who was 
to be given the first place in the 
class, but Jean was in a harrowing 
state of uncertainty. That first 
morning’s miserable fright and its 
possible effect upon the decision of the judges kept coming 
up before her, and whenever she caught her own name on the 
hum of conversation that floated up to the rostrum, she 
shrank more and more behind the fat Mattie. 

At last the long exercises drew towards a close and Pro- 
fessor Dearing in a neat little speech announced that the hon- 
ors had been awarded to the following young ladies: 

“First, Miss Jean Bruce Conway.” And before Jean could 
realize it, she was bowing her thanks to the audience, which 
was making the house ring with applause. Then Annie 


( 49 ) 


50 


JEAN ENLISTS 


Matthews was announced as winner of the second place; and 
when she had acknowledged the appreciation of the audience, 
Dr. Parks was introduced and, stepping forward, said: 

“You will pardon me a slight digression from the subject 
I have undertaken to discuss before you this evening. I am, as 
you probably know, interested in the higher education of 
woman, the importance of which I feel I need not argue before 
this audience. I was greatly interested in the examinations of 
the young ladies who form the graduating class to-night and 
wish to say that I have seldom seen a better average grade of 
scholarship. (Applause.) I was particularly pleased with the 
scholarship of Miss Conway, who has just been awarded the 
first place in the class. (Loud applause.) She has not only 
been through her books, she knows them — has compassed, in 
so far as they teach, their subjects.” Here the speaker was 
forced to await the subsidence of applause. “But we are all 
aware that education means something deeper, higher than this 
— that it means the disciplining of the mind, the curbing and 
training of its faculties to do the bidding of the master Will. 
And this Miss Conway has accomplished to a remarkable de- 
gree for one so young.” Again he was forced to stop till the 
applause subsided. “For these reasons,” he went on, speak- 
ing rapidly, as if afraid he would be interrupted again, “I have 
decided to tender Miss Conway a scholarship at my disposal 
in the college with which I am connected, feeling sure that she 
will vindicate my judgment and be a credit to our institution.” 

To say that the audience literally stormed their appreciation 
would be no exaggeration ; round after round of applause died 
away only to be followed by another and another, while the 
platform was pelted with flowers and evergreens which the 
ladies took from their hair and the men snatched from the 
walls. As the whole scene reeled and swam before her eyes, 
Jean felt some one pull at her skirt and heard Mrs. Matthew's 
voice saying: 


JEAN ENLISTS 


51 


“You, Jean Conway, get up and make some acknowledg- 
ment of the ovation you are receiving! My! If you were only 
a daughter of mine!” 

Jean looked in the direction of the voice, but saw only her 
mother lying back pallid as if with fright. The next thing she 
distinguished was Judge Bruce on his feet in the audience 
thanking Dr. Parks for the compliment he had paid his ward 
and her town and giving assurance of their grateful apprecia- 
tion of the honor. 

It is to be feared that the doctor’s lecture didn’t receive the 
close attention it would have had, had he deferred his com- 
pliment to Jean till its close; for as soon as it was over there 
was a rush to the rostrum where she stood. Uncle Bruce was 
the first to reach her. 

“My little woman,” he cried, grasping both her hands and 
shaking them vigorously, “you have done me proud! Why, 
child, this is a regular ten strike!” He was pushed on by the 
crowd, but got back in a little while bringing Mrs. Conway, 
who had recovered from the nervous shock the first announce- 
ment of Jean’s good fortune had given her; and together they 
stood and listened to the congratulations and praises which- 
friends seemed never to tire of bestowing. 

Judge Bruce took the mother and daughter home that night, 
one on each arm. He was jubilant, and dilated with almost 
boyish enthusiasm on the honors and advantages Jean had 
won. 

“She can now hope to carry out her cherished plan of going 
to Europe some day, can’t she?” asked the mother, whose spir- 
its had risen with the general rejoicing. 

“Certainly! certainly! Why, Madam, with her mind and the 
advantages this scholarship affords, Jean’s future is in her own 
hands. Under the most favorable circumstances, I couldn’t 
have done better for her; indeed, I couldn’t have wished any- 
thing better than this; for, you see, there’s the prestige! the 


52 


JEAN ENLISTS 


prestige of having won it on her own merit! And I’ll tell you 
the truth, taking everything into account, it wouldn’t surprise 
me a bit if you and I had a famous woman on our hands some 
day!” 

Jean lay awake nearly all the rest of the short summer night 
trying to convince herself of the reality of the good fortune - 
that had come to her so unexpectedly; and even after she had 
fallen asleep, long delightful dreams of the future unwound 
themselves in her excited brain. 

When she awoke next morning the sun was high in the 
sky, shining with all his might; the birds in the trees outside 
were singing as if their little hearts would burst with joy; she 
could hear the children romping in the hall below; and her 
mother’s voice was calling from her room. 

“Come and help me dress, dear,” she said, when Jean went 
in. “The excitement was too much for me last night and I 
haven’t felt well enough to get up yet. Oh! my child,” she con- 
tinued, laying trembling hands on Jean's shoulders as she bent 
over to help her up, “I’m so glad you are going to escape from 
this poverty and misery, but — but I don’t know what is to be- 
come of me when you are gone.” 

She had gotten up while speaking, and as she finished she 
tottered forward fainting. Jean caught her and lifted her back 
to the bed; even in the fright of the moment she was surprised 
at the lightness of the burden. A scream for Alice brought all 
the children in a frightened flock and for a moment their cries 
almost crazed Jean. 

“Hush, children! Hush! She has only fainted,” she cried, 
snatching a bottle of cologne and beginning to bathe her tem- 
ples. “Run for Dr. Bardwell, Duke; no, Alice, don’t raise her; 
let her lie flat and rub her. Stand back, children, and let her 
have air; she isn’t dead, I tell you, but you will frighten her to 
death. There! she sighed. Mamma! Thank God!” 

She hurried Archie and Kit out and darkened the room ; and 


JEAN ENLISTS 53 

half an hour later when Dr. Bardwell arrived, the mother was 
able to speak. 

“Is that you, Doctor? What is the matter? Oh! I remem- 
ber now; I fainted. You see I haven’t been able to sleep all 
night for thinking of Jean’s misfortune,” she said feebly. 

“Is that the way you regard it?” said Dr. Bardwell laugh- 
ingly as he felt the patient’s pulse. “I assure you the rest of us 
consider it a great good fortune; and we think Miss Jean de- 
serves it, too.” 

“Did I say misfortune?” asked the mother, looking from one 
to the other. 

“Yes, but you probably didn’t mean it,” said the doctor. 

“I must have been thinking of the rest of us,” said the 
mother sadly, and added, “How much Jean deserves, Doctor, 
no one knows except myself; for no one else can know what a 
good, unselfish child she is. I don’t know what is to become 
of me when she goes away!” and she began to cry. 

“Well, well,” said the doctor cheerfully, “ she hasn’t gone 
yet, and you must not cry about it now. I’ll give you some- 
thing that will enable you to sleep, and when you wake, you’ll 
feel better and will take a more cheerful view of things.” 

Jean followed him to the front door and took directions 
about the medicine. 

“Is it anything serious?” she asked anxiously. 

“Oh, no; it was only exhaustion from over exertion and ex- 
citement last night.” 

“And she will be well and strong again soon?” 

The doctor hesitated a moment and then said seriously: 

“Miss Jean, your mother never has been a strong woman in 
any sense of the word and never will be.” 

“And I ought not to leave her?” was the question asked 
more by Jean’s anguished eyes than by the lips which almost 
refused to frame it. 

“I can’t say that; it is a question for your own heart and 


54 


JEAN ENLISTS 


conscience. But” — and there was a world of feeling in the kind 
old eyes — “a person never has but one mother.” 

“Poor child!” thought the old physician as he walked slowly 
down the beautiful avenue checkered with sunlight and shade 
and resonant with the song of birds. “Poor child, the hard 
battle has come to her sooner than it does to most of us. I 
wonder how she will decide!” 

It was indeed a fierce battle that was waged in that darkened 
sick-chamber that bright summer morning. On one side were 
all the hopes and aspirations of a young life; the love of appro- 
bation; and mightier still, the love of knowledge. In the first 
awakening of her mind that followed her association with 
Elise, Jean had thought only of seeing and hearing; but in 
her application to books she had developed the tastes of a 
student — the love of knowledge for itself, the keen delight in 
knowing which is at once an incentive and a reward; and all 
unknown to herself this had become the object of her life. On 
the other side was duty — stern, unattractive, uncompromising 
duty. The heart which beat so tumultuously in her breast was 
a passionate pleader on the one side, but opposed to it was the 
worn, pallid face on the pillow before her, looking so helpless in 
its deep, death-like sleep. As she watched it, many things came 
home to her as they had never done before; the terrible change 
of fortune to one who had always been tenderly shielded from 
every care; the gravity of their straitened circumstances; and 
the broken, hopeless life of the widowed. She wondered as she 
thought of the blind selfishness with which she had been pur- 
suing her own object, oblivious of these things. 

When Alice came at last and whispered that Uncle Bruce 
and Dr. Parks were in the parlor, Jean went down with a chill 
at her heart and the quiet of hopelessness in her manner. 

The interview was short; for after hearing of the illness of 
her mother, Dr. Parks explained in a few words that he had 
called to renew personally the offer he had made the previous 


JEAN ENLISTS 


55 


evening and to learn her answer. He spoke of the great advan- 
tages the institution afforded — of its fine teachers, its complete 
equipment in every department, the cultured society within its 
walls, and the prestige its diplomas gave. 

Jean explained as best she could — how she never exactly 
knew — that she appreciated fully the advantages offered and 
was deeply grateful for the honor he had done her; but that 
her mother’s health was such that she felt she ought not to 
leave home. More than once she looked to Uncle Bruce for 
help, but he said not a word, either of remonstrance or ap- 
proval. Dr. Parks expressed his regrets and said kindly as 
they were leaving: 

“Your heart is worthy of your head, Miss Conway. Any 
time that I can serve you it will give me pleasure to do so. I 
understand you intend teaching.” 

“Thank you very much,” Jean said in a voice which 
sounded shockingly tearful for a dignified young lady talking 
business. “I will teach if I can do so without leaving home.” 
But Uncle Bruce took his leave without so much as looking 
concerned about what she had done. 

“Oh! why will the sun go on shining and the birds go on 
singing when there’s no hope in life?” she exclaimed as she 
shut the door after her visitors; and rushing upstairs she cast 
herself on the floor a sobbing heap of despair and remorse — no, 
not remorse; for when after a while the mother awoke and 
called her, it was a cheerful face that bent above her and a 
cheerful voice that answered. 

“O child,” sobbed the sick woman, “I dreamed that it was 
all a mistake and you were not going to leave me. Oh, why 
did I wake into this weary world again?” 

“Well,” said Jean brightly, “dreams sometimes come true 
and this is one of the times ; I have seen Dr. Parks and told him 
that I can’t leave you.” 


56 


JEAN ENLISTS 


“Oh, my darling! do you mean it?” cried the mother, reach- 
ing up and pulling her down. 

“Yes’m,” said Jean, with a little sob that just would come 
out after the word, and the two remained for some time clasped 
in each other’s arms with only the God of the fatherless and 
the widow looking on. 

By the afternoon the mother had recuperated so surprisingly 
that Jean left her in Alice’s care and went to say good-bye to 
the school girls who lived at a distance. The yard, the halls, 
and the parlors were all filled with merry groups of girls and 
visitors; all the girls hailed her joyfully and each had some- 
thing nice to say to her or to tell her that some one else had 
said about her. In as matter-of-fact a manner as she could 
command she explained to them that she had not accepted Dr. 
Parks’ offer on account of her mother’s failing health. The 
surprise and disappointment of her friends were evident from 
their faces, though none of them expressed themselves except 
Mrs. Matthews, who whispered her comments as she passed 
her on her way out. But old Dr. Bardwell, who was one of a 
group, adjusted his spectacles and gave her an approving 
look and smile that helped wonderfully. When she reached 
home Alice met her at the door with: 

“O Jean, do go to mamma! I can’t do a thing with her.” 

“Has Mrs. Matthews been here?” Jean asked. 

“Yes, indeed, she has!” was the significant reply. 

“Come here, my child,” said her mother feebly when Jean 
went into her room. “I want to ask your pardon for being 
such a selfish, cruel mother and to tell you to write to Dr. 
Parks at once and accept his offer. I suppose I made a mis- 
take in ever coming into the world at all, but I didn’t intend 
it.” 

“There, there!” said Jean, wiping her mother’s face and 
kissing her. “It isn’t worth while to talk about that now; it’s 
all settled and Mrs. Matthews had no business to come here 


JEAN ENLISTS 


57 


and harrow up your feelings about it.” And from that day 
Jean dismissed the subject of her “great sacrifice.” 

That evening, Judge Bruce told his wife of her namesake’s 
conduct and said: 

“And just to think that I had always thought her selfish!” 

“That was grandly — nobly done,” said Mrs. Bruce feelingly. 

“Why, my dear, one would think you actually approved of 
Jean’s throwing away the finest opportunity she will ever 
have,” said the judge with asperity. 

“So I do. It is her duty to stay and help her mother,” his 
wife replied. 

“But you just mark my words; she will have the whole 
burden of the family thrown on her.” 

“Well, she is better able to bear it than Lina; she is no more 
fitted to be the mother of a family these times than she is to 
command an army,” returned the wife. 

“It’s a pity she can’t realize the fact as regards business 
matters,” said the judge grimly. “I never knew Conway’s 
good sense to desert him but twice, and those were the times he 
made his second and third marriages.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


AN OLD FRIEND 



HE new cook proved to be an ex- 
pensive luxury. When Jean had 
en ff a ff e d her, the woman professed 
to have no children, but she had 
not been on the lot a week be- 
fore they began to pop up and 
run off like rabbits whenever 
one of the family went into the 
back yard. As they increased in 
numbers and boldness the quan- 
tity of cooked food a given quan- 
tity of material produced grew 
rapidly less. Jean didn’t discover 
this fact till after she was out of 
school ; for when the shrinkage 
grew large enough to be notice- 
able, the cook, in Jean’s absence, would send in for the keys, 
on the ground that she had forgotten something; and Mrs. 
Conway, never having carried keys, would send them out to 
her. Upon discovering this, Jean remonstrated, and then 
went to the kitchen and demonstrated the capacity of a quart 
measure of flour; the woman protested her utter inability to 
work such magic as to make fourteen biscuits to the quart. 
Knowing that their little stock of provisions couldn’t bear 
such a drain, Jean dismissed her, giving her a month’s rent 


( 58 ) 


AN OLD FRIEND 


59 


of her rooms in payment of wages. As there was no visible 
means of paying another, there was nothing to do but take the 
kitchen herself; and though the weather was broiling hot and 
the yard grown waist-high in weeds, Jean became fire-queen 
in the little brick kitchen where Mammy used to reign. 

One morning during the elaborate process of getting dinner, 
Alice came out to say that Uncle Bruce and Robert were in 
the parlor. They were on their way home from Virginia, 
where Robert had been at college for four years past. 

“Please, you go in, Alice! Look what a plight I am in!” 
said Jean, rising up from before the roaring fire, which made 
the air of the little room quiver with heat, and wiping the 
beads from her crimson face. But Alice was contrary, and 
answered : 

“I won’t do it; they don’t want to see me. The Bruces 
never did have any use for me. I’m going to stay here and 
burn this dinner up, and you’d as well go on.” 

When Jean at last emerged from her room it was in a rather 
moist state; her face she knew was the color of a lobster, in 
spite of repeated baths, and glistened like a new tin pan; her 
hands were puffy and damp; and every now and then a little 
rivulet would wend its way down the back of her neck most 
aggravatingly. But the guests had already been in the parlor 
fifteen minutes, and there was no more time for delay, so in 
she went. A manly young fellow with a brown mustache 
came forward to meet her. 

“Why, Robert, what a man you are!” she exclaimed in 
surprise. 

“That isn’t strange, since you are a woman. Shall I say 
‘Jean,’ as of old?” he answered, shaking hands. 

“Oh, call her Jean, of course!” said her mother; then to the 
judge, “Do you know, it makes me feel positively decrepit to 
hear Jean spoken of as Miss Conway!” 


60 


AN OLD FRIEND 


“He doesn’t look a bit like a cotton-picker now, does he, 
Jean?” said Judge Bruce, with a glance of pride at his son. 

“No, indeed,” she replied. 

“Then appearances are deceptive,” said Robert. “I can 
assure you my fingers have not lost their cunning nor my 
back its suppleness. Father tells me he is giving seventy-five 
cents for cotton, and at that rate I can make enough this 
summer to pay my expenses at the law school next year.” 

“Then you are going into the law?” said the mother, and 
she and Robert drifted into a chat about college life; for she 
too had gone to school in the same dear old Virginia town, 
and was delighted to hear from it again. 

Judge Bruce asked Jean how they were doing, and she told 
him about the discharge oi the cook. He looked worried, but 
could offer no plan for bettering things. The mention of the 
cook brought to Jean’s mind Alice and the probable fate of 
the dinner; this in turn made her wonder if their guests were 
going to stay to dinner; the horrible uncertainty set that mis- 
erable little stream to trickling down her neck again ; and be- 
tween concern for the back of her dress and fear for the dinner, 
she made some rather wild answers to Uncle Bruce’s remarks. 

At last, to her relief, they arose to go, but Mrs. Conway, 
who had been charmed and charming in her conversation with 
Robert, was to the front immediately, and insisted that they 
should stay and dine. 

“No, thank you,” said the judge, “our team is waiting for 
us down town and I know the mother is getting impatient to 
see this young man.” 

Jean drew a long breath mentally, but the mother’s old- 
fashioned hospitality was not to be put off that way. 

“Really, Judge,” she said, with feeling, “I shall be deeply 
wounded if you leave my house to dine at a hotel. Besides, 
as Jean is our cook now, I am anxious for you to see what 
an excellent dinner she can prepare.” 


AN OLD FRIEND 


61 


They had reached the steps by this time, Jean having man- 
aged to keep her back out of sight during the passage. 

“I think/’ said the judge, “it would be unreasonable to ex- 
pect Jean to entertain us and cook at the same time. I am 
sure if we stayed now we would eat a dinner of some one else’s 
cooking. We’ll come again when she’s had fair warning.” 

“Do!” said Mrs. Conway, urgently, “just any day you 
choose; and, Robert, I shall expect you to dine every time you 
come to town ; and do bring your mother to stay several weeks 
with me, I am hungry for one of our old chats.” 

“I do think,” she continued, as they went off, “that Robert 
is the most elegant young man I’ve met in years; he’s so manly 
yet so modest. He is the style of beaux we had in my day.” 

But Jean had fled to learn the fate of the dinner, conscious 
only of gratitude that her mother had not bound her guests 
by a solemn vow to bring the entire family and spend the 
summer at Conway. 

An all-summer guest — indeed two of them — did arrive in a 
few days, however. They were Rene and a friend of his, a 
Mr. La Rue. Mrs. Conway was delighted to see her stepson, 
and gratified that he felt at liberty to bring his friend to her 
house unannounced. But somehow Mr. La Rue (Rene called 
him Ruelette, because he was so small, he said; but he didn’t 
spell it that way) who could speak very little English, never 
seemed quite at ease. Mrs. Conway entertained them gra- 
ciously in the cool parlors, while the girls slipped around in 
the heat and did the work on the sly. Their entertainment 
was quite a complicated matter, and involved no little in- 
genuity. For instance, Alice had to wait on the table, and 
Jean stay in the kitchen during the meals. When anything 
hot was to be carried in, Jean would go to the door and, keep- 
ing her face carefully out of sight, would call “Miss Alice” to 
take it in. Then, too, the one whole tablecloth had frequently 
to be laundried between meals. And the chairs created no 


62 


AN OLD FRIEND 


end of trouble. The cane-seated ones which were needing re- 
pairs when the freshet came, were now in tatters, and only 
the hair-covered ones in the parlor were able to receive com- 
pany. So when Alice went around to announce a meal from 
the hall, Jean, Duke and Archie stationed themselves near the 
folding-doors between the two rooms, and as soon as the 
sound of footsteps announced that the party was on the march 
for the dining room, Jean switched open the door and each 
grabbed a chair and rushed back, endeavoring to place it at the 
table before the head of the advancing column should reach the 
door. This exploit, a bright idea of Alice’s, required not only 
secrecy and rapidly, but dexterity as well, for any confusion 
would not only endanger the precious chairs but might betray 
the flank movement to the enemy. Once indeed Duke got 
excited, thinking he would be too late, and hoisting his chair 
over his head rushed at the door just as Jean came to signal 
him down. She had sufficient presence of mind not to make 
any audible remarks at the time, but for several days after she 
looked as if she were sprouting a horn in the centre of her 
forehead. 

The young men had come professedly to go on a camp-hunt, 
but as the weeks went by and they showed no disposition to 
depart, this elaborate though unostentatious hospitality grew 
monotonous; and when it was discovered that Jean had lost 
ten pounds in weight, and Alice had symptoms of incipient 
freckles-on-the-nose, the latter declared that the parlor chairs 
and the good tablecloth should have a rest. So they mended 
the old chairs by tacking some pieces of carpet over the seats, 
and restored them to their places in the dining room. 

The sun must have been too much for Mr. La Rue that day 
or else the sight of the darned tablecloth went to his head ; for 
when he went in to supper he tottered, steadied himself by the 
table, then dropped into his seat like a bag of shot. The car- 


AN OLD FRIEND 


63 


peting gave way with a snarl and he went on through — all but 
his head, hands and feet. 

“Why, hello, Rue! haven’t you touched bottom yet?” asked 
Rene, trying in vain to preserve his gravity as he surveyed 
the tangled, squirming mass of Mr. La Rue’s personality. Mr. 
La Rue made his reply, whatever it was, in French, and Rene 
picked up the chair and emptied him out. Duke and Archie 
had left the room precipitately, but Alice and the mother stood 
with crimson, mortified faces, and gravely apologized and re- 
placed the chair with one from the parlor. 

The garden had been rented to an old darkie to cultivate on 
shares, but he had abandoned it in midseason, and it was now 
overrun with weeds. For a while, however, there were vege- 
tables of a stunted growth to be found by poking about in the 
tangled mass at the risk of being snake-bitten, but finally there 
came a time when it was almost impossible to find even 
enough for a soup bunch. The chickens, too, that Mammy 
had tended so carefully, under continued strain of company, 
disappeared from the face of the earth — all except an old game 
hen known as old Bet; and she owed her continued existence 
to her own cunning and agility, not to any relaxing of the fam- 
ily necessities. 

When Jean was on the verge of despair, Rene drove up in 
a light wagon one morning, and after unceremoniously bor- 
rowing all of the lightest and handiest of the cooking vessels 
and such articles of bedding and the like as could be needed 
in camping, took his friend and left. The relief, though great, 
was tempered by the fact that they took with them Duke, who 
was the only dependence for supplying the kitchen with wood 
and water. 

In the meantime Jean had been missing all the pleasures 
which girls just out of school enjoy so much. For a while 
her friends came after her to take part in their picnics and par- 


64 


AN OLD FRIEND 


ties, but to all their entreaties her one answer was that she 
couldn’t be spared from home and after a time they left her 
alone, much to her relief. 

Mrs. Matthews who exercised a sort of self-constituted 
guardianship over Mrs. Conway, continued to pay her mis- 
sionary visits, and to remonstrate with her in Jean’s behalf. 

“The very idea, Lina, of your letting Jean cook!” she would 
say, with her black eyes sparkling. “I’ll tell you now, Annie 
Matthews shall never go into the kitchen while my head is 
warm. And a girl of Jean’s abilities, too ! If she were a daugh- 
ter of mine, she should go to that college if she had to walk 
over my dead body. A mother ought to live for her children. 
I tell mine not to think of me, but to push themselves forward 
in the world; for the best thing they can do for me is to make 
successes of themselves. I can’t help them much, but I will 
not stand in their way!” 

To this Mrs. Conway would reply sadly: 

“I know I am no help to mine, but I think they will come 
out right in the end. 1 have faith enough in them to believe 
that they will. 

“Come out — How would it be possible for anybody to come 
out more beautifully than Jean did, and what good did it do 
her? You just sat right down on her and put her to cooking.” 

“Yes, I know! You will blame me with that though I have 
told you it was Jean’s own choice. And besides you forget 
that I haven’t your management. If you would only tell me 
what to do, I am sure I would only be too glad to do it.” 
Here the adviser would be nonplussed, but she would say: 

“I can’t say what I would do in your place unless I under- 
stood your business better; but I would certainly take my 
affairs in hand and manage them.” These visits always left 
the mother depressed and self-reproachful and Jean and Alice 
learned to dread them. 

Robert Bruce was not permitted to go into the fields for 


AN OLD FRIEND 


65 


fear of the effect on his health, and so found himself with 
more time for visiting than he had anticipated. He came to 
town often, and always called at Conway; but Jean seldom 
made her appearance. He changed the time of his calls from 
morning to afternoon, but still the mother and Alice were his 
chief entertainers. 

Poor Jean had gone down into the depths where no ray of 
hope penetrated, and any attempt at diversion seemed but a 
mockery of her despair. All day and far into the night the 
cry went up from her young heart, 

“Why, why hast Thou dealt thus with me?” 

The answer came not; and she did not know that every 
stroke of her strong young arms in shielding the incompetent 
mother, every heartache concealed from her, every smile 
forced to the lips for her sake was a touch of the Master’s 
chisel, carving out His answer, which would in the end give 
perfect satisfaction to Himself and her, in the enduring marble 
of her character. 

Once when the family all came out on the back porch to 
eat a watermelon Robert had brought, Jean was caught in 
the act of drawing a bucket of water. 

“Hold on, Jean! let me draw that for you!” cried the visitor 
running down the steps. 

“No, I do it every day,” Jean replied, blushing over the 
humiliation of having a guest come out to do menial service. 

“But you won’t when I’m about!” he said, taking the rope 
out of her hand. “This is my only business now, and though 
mother says I am the best ‘hewer of wood and drawer of 
water’ she ever had, she won’t give me anything but my board. 
I tell her I’m going to strike for more wages or another job 
when the weather gets cooler. How did you get that cut on 
your arm?” he continued, pointing to a fresh gash on her 
wrist. 


66 


AN OLD FRIEND 


“That,” said Jean surveying the injured member, “is some 
of my awkwardness; but it doesn’t amount to anything.” 

“It amounts to enough to be plastered up,” said he. And 
seating himself upon the curbing he laid the wounded wrist 
on his knee, took a piece of court plaster from his pocket 
book and proceeded to plaster up the cut. He was one of 
those people who have such an air of quiet unobtrusive self- 
confidence about them that others naturally give way to them, 
and Jean submitted without remonstrance. His hands were 
white — Jean blushed to see the contrast between them and 
her own — but they were strong and sinewy and gave one the 
impression that their possessor wasn’t much troubled with 
doubts about things. 

“If that doesn’t heal without leaving a scar then I’m no 
surgeon,” he said, taking up the bucket. It was all so natural 
— so like the Robert of old, that Jean had quite lost sight of 
the young man she had been avoiding so successfully, and 
somehow the old goodfellowship between them was restored. 

With the early September days, Robert came to say good- 
bye for the year. 

“You haven’t been in to see me half a dozen times this 
summer, Jean,” he said when about to leave. 

“I thought you knew I was cooking,” she answered eva- 
sively. 

“But you haven’t been cooking all day!” 

“No,” she said, a little guiltily, “but not being accustomed 
to it I have found it very exhausting; besides,” she continued 
more candidly, “I have felt discouraged and haven’t been 
pleasant company for any one.” 

“I know,” he replied sympathetically, “I’ve been along that 
way just a little myself. One’s duty isn’t usually a pleasant 
thing in the doing, but it’s a great thing to have done it.” 

And somehow Jean felt better after that — felt that there was 
some one who both understood and approved her course. 


AN OLD FRIEND 


67 


Her mother, she knew, didn’t begin to understand and Judge 
Bruce’s profound silence was proof that he didn’t approve. 

When the cooling breezes of September began to make the 
fiery furnace of the kitchen more tolerable, a ray of hope 
penetrated Jean’s sky: she was offered charge of the public 
school which was about to be opened. 

It was an experiment for the town and the salary — only 
thirty dollars a month — was not very enticing; still it would 
afford some means of supplying wants which began to be 
very pressing, if it didn’t necessitate the hiring of a servant. 
This “if” began to loom up very much in the way, when Uncle 
Bruce came to the rescue with a plan. On leaving, Robert 
had said to him: 

“Father, I wish you would do something for Jean; it will 
kill her to go on as she is doing.” 

“It’s a hard matter to do anything for young people these 
days when they take things into their own hands as they do,” 
said the judge, grimly; “but I’ll see what can be done.” 

So when Jean went to him with the offer of the public 
school, a bright idea struck the judge. 

“I’ll tell you what we ll do!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “You 
take the position and we’ll move those office rooms in the 
yard up to the house and make a dining room and kitchen 
of them. That will enable you to keep an eye on affairs and 
keep you out of the weather if the cook should leave you in the 
lurch any time. I can bring my hands up some day and move 
them and you can pay for the other work as your salary comes 
in; I’ll arrange for that.” 


CHAPTER VII. 



OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


JEAN ! here’s somebody coming to visit 
us — for our sins!” cried Alice one 
afternoon, bursting into the room 
where Jean was overhauling her 
^wardrobe preparatory to beginning 
school work. “Do get ready to go to 
the door! I can’t make my appear- 
ance decently.” And Alice pathet- 
ically held out a frazzle-toed shoe. 
“They are in a carriage coming up 
the avenue and I just know the front 
doors are sprawling wide open. 
Archie, please run down and see if my 
old garden-hat and Kit’s bottomless 
chair are not in full view,” she went 
on as she applied her eye to a crack in the blinds. “Mercy on 
me!” she cried with a groan as Archie trotted out of the room, 
“there goes Kit herself flying down the avenue and her face is 
dirty, her apron torn, and her toes all out. Oh that child will 


be the death of me!” 


These remarks fired at short intervals were like pins and 
needles to Jean as she hurried into a fresh dress. 

“Jean, they are positively stopping and pulling her up into 
the carriage — the little wretch!” continued the lookout. “Why, 
what can they mean? They are not stopping at the gate, but 


( 68 ) 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


are coming around to the lot!” and Alice flew to another 
window. 

“Maybe it’s some of the family/’ said Jean, trying to keep 
her teeth from chattering at the thought. 

“'Yes, it is! It is — John and his family!” and the two girls 
faced each other blankly. 

“There isn’t a dust of flour in the house!” said Jean. 

“And you’ve had the meat under police surveillance for a 
week!” said Alice. 

“Oh what shall we do!” 

There was nothing to be gained by staring at each other and 
propounding conundrums, so they went down. The mother 
was already out welcoming the visitors, of whom there were 
three, brother John, his wife, sister Felicia, and their daughter, 
Sarah. 

“I thought once I’d write, then concluded I’d surprise you,” 
said sister Felicia in reply to the mother’s cordial greeting. 

“She meant 'confound us’,” whispered Alice to Jean. 

Jean found it impossible to sit still long after the guests had 
been escorted in, and restlessly turned her steps to the kitchen, 
though she knew there was nothing to be gained by it, not 
even inspiration. The time had gone by in their affairs when 
a bright idea and a few bread-crumbs could be converted into 
a family meal of three courses. At the back-door of the kitchen 
she found Archie crying, while Kit dodged around the corner 
as she came out. 

“The little scamp, she’s teasing him again,” thought Jean, 
her heart aglow for her pet boy. 

“I’ll kill her!” said the pet boy, looking up with fire flashing 
through the tears on his woe-begone face. 

“Archie! you mustn’t talk that way,” said Jean deprecatingly. 

“I will! I’ll kill her and eat her, though she isn’t fit for any- 
thing but soup.” 


70 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


Jean suppressed her horror at such cannibalistic id^as till 
she could get at the bottom of the trouble, and asked: 

“What did she do?” 

“Do? Why she nearly cursed; didn’t you hear her? I was 
afraid they would all hear her, and it would take away their 
appetites.” 

Jean was horrified, but she couldn’t help wishing that they 
had heard her. Archie continued angrily: 

“I had her down, but she bit me till I had to let her up; I 
do believe she’s possessed of the devil!” This was too much. 

“Archie, Archie, you shall not talk so about your sister! It’s 
wicked! It’s horrible!” cried Jean, catching him by the shoul- 
ders and giving him a vigorous shaking. 

“Why, Sister!” said the culprit, his small figure limp with 
astonishment and his big eyes full of sorrowful reproach, “I — I 
was talking about old Bet. I thought we’d just have to have 
her for breakfast, and I’d catch her so you could put her on 
now.” 

“Oh,” said tlie big sister and disappeared within the door. 

John had come out to unload the carriage and called her to 
know where he should put a sack of new flour he had brought 
as a present. As she ran to open the pantry door for him, he 
said: 

“There are some ham sandwiches in that lunch basket 
that are too good to be thrown away.” And so old Bet’s life 
was spared to her once again. For two weeks, however, 
Archie did nothing but set traps and pitfalls for her. At almost 
any hour of the day or night he might be seen creeping stealth- 
ily through the dry weeds or climbing the roosting poles; but 
all to no purpose. Old Bet continued to be counted among the 
available assets of the family, though the continual apprehen- 
sion in which she lived told sadly on her nerves. She grew thin 
and suspectful and crept about noiselessly with her head poked 
out on a line with her body and an expression of craftiness 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


71 


on her face. Her mind became unhinged too; for she would 
suddenly break out with the most unearthly squawks without 
the slightest provocation, and Alice declared that she actually 
leered at members of the family when Archie was not about. 

Sister Felicia must have been a very unsuspecting person 
if her suspicions were not aroused by the supper which ap- 
peared on the table that night. The ham, indeed, had no ear- 
marks by which it could be identified, and cut thinner and 
broiled on the coals it was for all the world like any other 
ham; but the apple preserves and toasted light bread she could 
not have told from her own if she had not been so busy talking. 

Brother John had surprised his family by marrying, just be- 
fore he went to the war, a country girl living near one of his 
father’s plantations. As she could never be induced to visit 
the family, none of them had ever met her before. Her fame 
for industry and good management had preceded her by sev- 
eral years, however, and everything about her appearance and 
that of her husband and daughter confirmed her reputation. 
All their clothes were new and substantial, forming a painful 
contrast to the refined shabbiness of Conway and its inmates, 
but they were of a style two years out of date and showed 
plainly that their maker didn’t believe in wasting time in so 
insignificant a thing as “fit.” 

After supper, when they were all gathered in the sitting 
room, Mrs. Conway number two said: 

“Well, Ma, I’ve come over to put Sarah to school, and as I 
think it right to keep things in the family as much as possible, 
I’m going to give you the boarding of her.” 

The mother said she would be glad to have Sarah, and 
would try to make her happy. 

“You see,” sister Felicia continued, “she’s showed that she’s 
got enough of me in her to bear taking an education. I’m 
going to educate them all, but they’ve got to show first that 


72 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


they are not so much Conway as to be everlastingly and tee- 
totally ruined by it.” 

Duke nudged Jean, and Alice looked up with a sparkle in 
her eyes. 

“You forget,” said John, “that mother is a Conway herself.” 

“Oh, she's no born Conway,” said his wife, not to be thrown 
off of her subject. 

“But her children are,” replied John. 

“The more’s the pity for them,” replied Mrs. Felicia, who 
was warming up to her favorite theme. “When I married a 
Conway, Ma,” she continued, “I thought I was doing some- 
thing great; but I’ll be blest if it wasn’t the worst day’s busi- 
ness I ever put through!” 

“I should think,” said the mother gently, “that you would 
be glad you had married a high-minded, intelligent gentle- 
man.” 

“Oh! bother the intelligent gentleman! I like a man that's 
got energy — a worker — and if there’s one of the Conways that’s 
got a spark of energy, for all their airs, I don’t know it!” 

There was a decided sensation among the “born Conways” 
present, but the speaker didn’t notice it. 

“Why there’s William Henry, who is never out of debt from 
year’s end to year’s end; if I were his wife I’d have gone crazy 
long ago. They do say that Elizabeth would be a house- 
keeper if she had any health, but Mary Anna is the poorest 
excuse that ever was. There’s no telling what will become 
of Elise, gone off under a false name, and even John admits 
that Rene is going to the dogs as fast as his feet can carry him.” 
No one made any reply to this, but the mother turned to John 
and said: 

“I’m glad to be able to correct any derogatory rumors you 
may have heard respecting Rene; he spent part of the summer 
with me, and I never entertained a more elegant gentleman.” 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


73 


A peculiar expression passed over John’s face, but his wife 
didn’t allow him time to speak. 

“Why, Ma!” she exclaimed in astonishment, “is it possible 
you don’t know what sort of company Rene had in your house 
this summer? For a while I mistrusted about putting Sarah 
with you on that very account, and I told John that if they 
came back I should be compelled to take her away.” 

“Rene’s friend behaved in a very gentlemanly manner,” said 
Mrs. Conway decidedly. 

“I would advise you, Mother,” said John gravely, “not to 
let him bring any one here again. Indeed it would be best for 
your boys not to have Rene himself in your house.” 

Mrs. Conway quietly but persistently affirmed her faith in 
Rene to the delight of her own children. John said no more, 
but Mrs. Felicia was not to be stopped. 

“Did you ever!” she said, with a significant look at her hus- 
band. “I always knew the Conways thought themselves so 
much better than other people that they wouldn’t hear one 
another criticised, but I didn’t think anybody else would try 
to take up for a fellow who has gone the lengths that Rene 
has; but there’s no accounting for the pride of the Conways. 
I declare,” she continued laughing, “I feel right ashamed of 
myself when I think how I used to be afraid of them. But I 
can tell you I have gotten over that now!” 

Alice was about to reply, but her mother laid her hand on 
her and said with gentle dignity: 

“I am glad you have learned to know us better; I am sure 
you would never have found us anything but kind and courte- 
ous; for prosperity did not spoil us any more than adversity has 
lowered our self-respect.” 

“Oh!” said Mrs. Felicia, “I don’t bemean anybody for their 
poverty, if they don’t lack energy; it’s a lack of energy that I 
can’t abide. They do say that old Father Conway was a real 


71 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


sensible, energetic old man, but I must say he made a mighty 
poor cut of raising his children/’ 

When Jean and Alice went to their room that night, the 
latter said with a flushed face: 

“We must have fallen low indeed when people like that come 
and browbeat us in our own house. I’m afraid I shall insult 
her before she leaves.” 

“Not if you are a ‘born Conway’/’ Jean answered soothingly, 
though there was an unusual sparkle in her own eyes. “That’s 
the difference between them and their critics. Didn’t you no- 
tice how gentle and patient mamma and brother John were 
with her?” 

“But she can’t appreciate that kind of superiority; I want to 
cut her back in a way she can feel,” said Alice. 

“And so come down to her own level; no, dear. I’m glad 
true courtesy is one thing that wealth can’t bestow nor poverty 
take away. Let’s hold on to that part of our inheritance all the 
more, because it’s about all that’s left us. What hurts me is 
that I’m afraid there’s a good deal of truth in what she says. 
I can’t bear the idea of being one of the has-beens and I’m not 
going to be either.” 

“Well — for my part,” said Alice, as she slowly unlaced the 
frazzle-toed shoe, “I’ve seen enough of ‘workers,’ and when my 
time comes to work for a living I’m going to wrap my gen- 
tility about me and — go to the poorhouse.” 

Next morning Mrs. Felicia was all affability. Having 
atoned to herself for the indignity she suffered in once paying 
undue reverence to her husband’s family, and feeling that she 
had thereby asserted her equality with them, she was prepared 
to be exceedingly friendly. Indeed she had nothing but kind 
feelings for all of them and would have been astonished could 
she have known of the wound which her depreciation, coming 
in the midst of their poverty, had inflicted on the family pride. 

After breakfast next morning the visitors left, taking Sarah 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


75 


with them as far as the schoolhouse. When good-byes were 
to be said, Duke deliberately strolled off and Alice didn’t make 
her appearance till the party were all seated in the carriage and 
kissing was out of the question. 

“Why, there’s Alice; I like to have forgotten her. Good- 
bye, child ! Come and see me when Sarah comes home Christ- 
mas!” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Conway! Good-bye,” said Alice, with the 
air of an obliged queen. But sister Felicia was already talking 
of something else to mamma and didn’t hear her. 

Soon after her arrival, the sister-in-law had said that she 
would leave the matter of Sarah’s board to be settled by Mrs. 
Conway and John, adding that she herself would stand up to 
any bargain he made. John had said nothing about it, but as 
he was driving off, he checked his horses and said: 

“I suppose, Mother, it will be agreeable to you to take pro- 
visions for Sarah’s board.” 

“Oh!” said the mother, flushing painfully, “I couldn’t think 
of taking board for Sarah, and I hope you will not wound my 
feelings by mentioning the subject again.” 

“I didn’t think of your taking her for nothing,” said John, 
with an expression of satisfaction settling over his face. Jean 
and Alice stood appalled, and, spurred on by the recollection 
of the beautiful empty shelves in the new pantry, Jean threw 
herself into the breach and astonished even herself by saying: 

“Yes, brother John, anything you can send will be ac- 
ceptable; you know our plantation was under water this 
spring.” 

“Now, John,” interposed the mother, “don’t send anything 
you can sell or possibly dispose of in any other way at all.” 

“Always send the price along, so I can credit you with the 
amount promptly,” Jean added. 

“Very well,” John said, addressing himself to Jean; “my 


76 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


wagons will be coming over soon and I’ll send you some 
things.’’ 

A little while after they left, Jean went to tidy up her 
mother’s room and found Kit dressed up, with a veil around 
her head, which she kept twisting up in imitation of sister 
Felicia’s constantly tumbling hair, while she dilated on the “no 
’countness of the Conways.” Duke was rolling on the lounge 
enjoying the burlesque, and Alice, who had tied her head up 
in a towel and gone out to sweep off the porches, stood at a 
window looking on unsmilingly. 

“It isn’t any laughing matter to me,” she said at last. “I 
feel perfectly disgraced myself, and my education is broken off 
entirely; for I’ll never show my face in the schoolroom with 
that gawk — her clothes all hanging on her like a scarecrow’s 
rags! And I’ll tell you all right now that when my time comes 
to work, I’m going to the poorhouse!” and Alice swept. 

Whether Alice intended to keep her last resolution or not, 
she did the first; she refused to go to school, although the 
teacher came after her more than once. Jean suspected that 
there was another reason besides Sarah’s badly fitting dresses. 
Alice herself had done some tall growing in the last year, and 
when she let out her last fall’s dresses (new ones were as far 
beyond their reach as the moon) there was a broad band of 
decidedly deeper hue than the rest of the dress around her 
ankles. 

“Oh me!” she cried piteously. “I look like a new growth of 
boxwood on the old, only the new growth of me is the biggest.” 

Then Alice was seized with an inspiration and disappeared 
for several hours. When she came out again, there were sev- 
eral narrow bands of white around her calico skirt and also 
around the yoke and wrists; for Alice always had an eye to 
harmony. 

“To hide the joint between the old and new growths,” she 
said in answer to Jean’s look of inquiry. Next day Caledonia 


OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US 


77 


Beard, who had taken a great fancy to Alice, came to see her, 
and was taken with the stripes; and two weeks after when Alice 
visited the school nearly all the girls were in dresses trimmed 
with white stripes. There were big stripes and little ones; 
few or many, according to the taste of the wearer; but every- 
body had them, and Alice told Jean that the teachers were all 
growing cross-eyed. 

Although Judge Bruce had spoken of it as a light matter, 
the moving and fitting up of the office rooms required many 
days. Being the first change in the way of improvement that 
had taken place at Conway within the memory of its young 
occupants, it was not only interesting, but inspiring as well; 
it seemed to show that a change for the better was taking 
place in their fortunes; indeed, with her own position secured, 
and Sarah to board for the winter, Jean felt that their worst 
times were over. 

Before the plastering and brick work were pronounced dry, 
she and Alice had resurrected a carpet and a pair of curtains 
from the attic and put them in the new dining room; and when 
the fire was lighted the room looked so snug and cheery that 
they moved the piano in too. 

When the work was all done, Uncle Bruce came and put a 
patent lock on the new pantry and presented the key to Jean 
in a little speech about economy and all that, and after he was 
gone she and Alice had a laugh — or a cry, they didn’t know 
which — over the unconscious irony. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES, 

t;T didn’t take Jean long to discover 
that her new occupation was not 
a path of roses. Her school- 
room was in a vacant building 
near the business part of town 
and was dark and dingy. A 
public school was something so 
new to the town people that it 
smacked of charity; and with the 
exception of Archie and Kit her 
pupils were all of the lower classes. 
The first day they stared at her 
from a distance like frightened 
animals and the next almost 
clambered over her in their familiarity; they whined and 
drawled over their lessons; and one or another of them kept 
the atmosphere of the room always redolent of onions. 

It was in utter weariness of spirit that she took up her 
distasteful task every morning, and with profound relief of 
mind and body that she laid it down in the afternoon; but 
from somewhere in her ancestry she inherited a faithfulness 
to obligations — a disposition to do with her might anything 
undertaken — and she worked diligently with her unpromising 
brood. It was not possible that disturbing thoughts of the 
far away college with its inspiring studies and its cultivated, 
refined society, both so dear to her heart, should not thrust 



( 78 ) 


WRESTLING WITH B IF FiCULTIES 


79 


themselves into this uncongenial life; but she kept them for 
her leisure hours at the schoolroom or the confidence of her 
pillow when not even Alice could see the anguish with which 
she bewailed her “wrecked life.” She might leave the school- 
room with a frown, but somewhere between that and the av- 
enue gate it was always lost and a brave smile summoned in its 
stead to cheer the mother and Alice, whose lives were marked 
principally by her going and coming. It was found that Alice 
was indispensable at home as company for the mother. Duke, 
too, refused to go to school and took to spending much of 
his time away from home and couldn’t even be relied on to 
supply wood and water. His absence otherwise was rather 
a relief; for he had taken to teasing Sarah who was a good, 
quiet child, although much disposed to run to tears. 

The “new departure,” as Alice called the new dining room, 
was found to be so cosy in contrast to the big chilly rooms 
of the main house, that she and the mother made it their sitting 
room; and right jolly times they had in it sometimes, too. 
Alice moved in some pictures and what few vases and orna- 
ments about the house were still whole, and potted some 
plants for the windows which looked out on the most pleasant 
part of the grounds, where the pines grew. The plants throve 
well and looked cheery below the red curtains. 

Under the mother’s influence Alice began to take an inter- 
est in books and soon a little stand was filled with them from 
the big bookcase in the hall; they resurrected the mother’s 
old music books, too, and together played and sang such old 
fashioned songs as “The Captive Knight,” “The Troubadour” 
and “My Normandy.” Here too when the door was locked so 
no one could surprise them at it, they darned and mended the 
fast failing wardrobe of the family. And sometimes when the 
mother couldn’t go to sleep at night she would sit in here 
and tell Jean and Alice of her own youth, of her travels, of gor- 
geous entertainments, of rich costumes, and of brilliant people 


80 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


who had the world at their feet in admiration; and the two 
girls would listen with eager faces and hungry hearts while 
their young imaginations added a hundredfold to the joy 
and richness of everything. Then the mother would go to 
sleep happy in the memories of the past, while they would lie 
awake and wonder why such things — all that made life good 
— were denied them. 

Alice made herself useful in spite of her oft repeated reso- 
lution not to work, but she couldn’t cook and that fell to 
Jean’s lot. Now as great an improvement on the fireplace 
as the cooking stove is, every one who has tried it knows 
it is not an unmixed joy, especially to one not accustomed 
to its freaks, and so Jean found the one she bought with part 
of the money she had still to earn. Sometimes it would 
scorch the 'biscuits before she could turn around, but when 
opened they would weep tears of liquid dough; then again, 
after staying in an hour they would come out looking as if 
they had seen a ghost. The fire had a mean way of going 
out in the midst of thing, too, and the damper appeared to 
delight in collecting all the smoke from neighboring chimneys 
ana pouring it in on her. Finally when in despair she carried 
one of mammy’s round ovens into the dining room and started 
to bake in the old way, the stove made up its mind to reform 
and began to cook beautifully. But by that time the mother 
had discovered that she couldn’t eat anything cooked in a 
stove and the process had to be carried on in duplicate. 

Mrs. Conway had visited little after giving up the carriage 
and horses and had ceased altogether after their troubles in 
the spring. But a few of their old friends continued to come 
to see them and she and Alice did their best to entertain 
them cheerfully in the cold gloom of the unused drawing 
room; but the handsome clothes and well kept appearance 
of the visitors always left a little sting. Mrs. Matthews and 
Annie often brought their work, were invited into the new 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


81 


departure, and formed the connecting link between the life 
there and the outside world. Mrs. Matthews knew everything 
that was going on and frequently brought magazines and 
paper-backed novels of which she was a devourer; and Annie 
taught them beautiful patterns of crocheted work in the mak- 
ing of which they never got beyond the patterns for lack of 
material. But despite the sociability of these visits they were 
not altogether pleasant, for Mrs. Matthews generally managed 
to say something about people who wouldn’t try to do their 
part in life and with her emphatic opinions and energetic ways 
she seemed a living rebuke to the gentle, resigned helplessness 
of poor Mrs. Conway. 

Once the rector, a comparatively new man in the parish, 
called, and while Mrs. Conway was talking cheerfully on 
general topics bluntly asked why she was always absent from 
services. The mother colored painfully as she replied, 

“I thought of course you knew, Mr. Holcomb, that I am 
no longer able to pay for my pew.” 

‘‘But, madam,” said the minister, severely, “no one has 
the right to absent themselves from the house of God on that 
account. You know there are seats provided for those who 
are unable to pay for them.” 

The mother spoke lightly, but Alice saw that she trembled 
terribly as she replied: 

“I understand Mr. Beard has taken my pew; he wants my 
home and will doubtless get it; and I dare say he will get my 
seat in Heaven, too.” 

Mr. Holcomb, who was a good man, though hard and un- 
sympathetic, went away horrified at such a spirit of rebellion 
and didn’t come again. 

Alice had at first invited the Beards into her mother’s pew 
and continued cheerfully to occupy a seat in it even after it 
became known that they had rented it; but after Mr. Hol- 
comb’s visit she went no more to church, declaring that his 


82 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


sermons would do her no good. And so Jean’s seat in the 
choir and a corner near it which Archie took was all that was 
left to them in the church which their father had been chiefly 
instrumental in building. 

It was not in the nature of things that one sack of flour 
should last a family indefinitely, even for midday lunch, and 
Jean and Alice were looking very anxiously for the provision 
John had promised when it came. There was a whole wagon 
full of it; and after getting behind the door and hugging each 
other and crying a little, the two girls went out to find that 
they had about forty bushels — not less — of turnips and pota- 
toes — and nothing more. Such wealth, overwhelming in its 
munificence, was somewhat appalling in its bulk, for there 
was no place to store it. The driver suggested putting the 
straw which covered them on the earth floor of the smoke 
house and putting the turnips and potatoes upon it. This 
they did and Jean began to guard her treasures well, keep- 
ing them under lock and key and carefully selecting the 
speckled ones to cook. But riches take unto themselves 
wings, and so do turnips and potatoes, figuratively speaking, 
and it wasn’t long till Jean was spending her Saturdays sitting 
in the midst of them piling up great panfulls of decayed ones 
for Archie to carry out to the garden. Then it got to be 
all he and she both could do to get them out of the door and 
soon the whole back yard was full of them, lying in wait 
slick and sly to trip up unwary feet. But there is compensa- 
tion in all things, and by that time the family had enough 
of them, indeed more than a genteel sufficiency; for one day 
Alice locked up Duke’s gun and when he asked for terms of 
surrender she replied that the sole condition was that he 
should cease, for all time to come, from going through the 
house shouting out: 

“Potatoes on the halfshell ! Turnips en escalope! Pommes 



\ 








WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


83 


de terre a la Mont Blanc!” and other like phrases, to the 
nauseating of all who heard him. 

One day at school Archie came in with a nickel which a 
carpenter had given him for bringing a bucket of water. 
Jean’s heart bounded at the sight; for it represented something 
palatable for the delicate mother. After school she and Archie 
went by the market; there was nothing to be had for a nickel, 
however, except a small fish and with that they went home 
happy. Alice was waiting for them at the gate and Archie 
ran to show her his treasure. 

“Oh! I’m so glad,” she said and her eyes filled with tears 
as she added, “It will be so nice for mamma.” 

Jean made a sign to her and turning to Archie said: 

“Run on, dear, and make a fire and we will soon have it 
cooked for her. Don’t fill his little heart with our troubles,” 
she said to Alice when he was gone. 

“O Jean! I just came out to tell you that mamma came 
near fainting again this morning; she is just dying by inches 
and not uttering a word of complaint. It would make you 
cry to see how thin and light she is. I have not told you 
because I thought you had trouble enough to bear, but I just 
can’t stand it any longer by myself!” and Alice sobbed bit- 
terly. 

“Heaven only knows what we are to do,” said Jean losing 
all the cheerfulness she had assumed. “I wish I hadn’t bought 
that stove; it cost a whole month’s pay and with the work 
on the rooms postpones my getting any money till the end 
of January. But it doesn’t do any good to regret it now; 
we must think of something to do.” 

“That’s the trouble! There isn’t anything we can do!” said 
Alice hopelessly. 

“I don’t know till I have thought it all over,” Jean replied. 

At dinner when the fish which they had prepared with 
affectionate, almost reverent care, was handed her the mother 


84 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


cut it in two and put the pieces on Duke’s and Sarah’s plates. 

Next day Alice was at the gate again, but to her eager 
question, 

“Have you got anything for mamma?” Jean had to answer 
“No.” 

“Well, I have,” and she joyfully held out a big pink egg 
in the palm of her hand. 

“Where did you get it?” cried Jean and Archie together. 

“Old Bet laid it; right on the step. Wasn’t that kind?” 

“I’m the meanest boy in the world!” said Archie, looking 
at the egg with remorse smitten face; and a little while after 
they saw him out feeding his ancient enemy, who hopped 
and fluttered about wildly as if suspecting some new stratagem. 

On the way to the house Jean said: 

“Archie has the promise of the carpenters to let him bring 
them water every day. It will be only a nickel a day, but 
that will buy a little something.” 

“Yes, but how are we to keep her from giving away every- 
thing we get for her? You saw how she did about the fish! 
I could have whipped Duke and Sarah for eating it,” said 
Alice in a vexed tone. 

“I have thought that out too,” Jean replied. 

And that night when Jean complained of what hard work 
it was to get breakfast in time to open school at the ap- 
pointed hour and Alice offered to help her if the mother 
would wait till after breakfast to get up, she didn’t suspect 
the trap and cheerfully consented to take her breakfast in bed. 

Then how they schemed and planned and worked to get 
something appetizing to go on the tray that Alice carried in 
to her first every morning! Sometimes it was a tiny steak, 
then a slice of ham, and generally on Saturdays and Sundays 
the half of a measly little mackerel — always something 
bought with the half dime Archie made by staggering and 
struggling along with buckets of water nearly as big as him- 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


85 


self. And the mother? Well, never having been accustomed 
to providing, it didn’t occur to her that what she had wasn’t 
on the table too. 

Before the potatoes were all gone, the family were surprised 
by another exhibition of John’s generosity; this time it was 
in the shape of a cow. They held a consultation as to what 
John expected them to do with her and when Alice declared 
her intention of sending the darkie who brought her back 
after that valuable piece of information, the old man mildly 
suggested that he expected her to be put into the lot. This 
was a relief and into the lot she went and staid for thirty-six 
hours, while Jean, Alice and the mother continued to consult 
at regular intervals as to what should be done with her next. 
The second night after her coming Sarah kept the two girls 
awake by crying for milk and Jean promised her that when 
morning came she would undertake to milk the cow. 

So before breakfast she sallied out with a tin pail of warm 
water and a towel on one arm while with the other hand she 
helped Alice carry a bucket of warm food with which to pro- 
pitiate the cow. Sarah, Kit, Duke and Archie had posted 
themselves on the fence to watch developments. The cow 
was hungry and tossed up her head upon smelling the food. 

“Come on around to the gate,” Jean said to Alice who was 
making for the nearest point of the fence. 

“Why, Jean, you are surely not thinking of going in there 
with that wild beast!” Alice said, setting down her side of the 
bucket. 

“Of course! What else can I do?” Jean answered. 

“Why, set the bucket inside the fence and milk her through 
a crack, goosey.” 

Everybody laughed except Alice, who continued earnestly: 

“Don’t you see her snorting at you already? And how 
furiously she switches her tail. See that?” 


86 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


“Oh, what do you know about a cow?” said Jean im- 
patiently. 

“This much more than you do, Miss; that when she switches 
her tail she’s dangerous.” 

After a little more parleying it was decided that Duke and 
Alice should set the food over the fence while Jean went 
through the gate. 

“You’d better come up on her from behind, Jean,” ad- 
vised Duke. 

“That may do very well in hunting, but this cow and I have 
got to cultivate a more intimate acquaintance,” Jean replied, 
marching boldly up in front of the cow who with her mouth 
in the bucket showed no signs of fight except that constant 
switching of the tail which had a kind of fascination for Alice’s 
eyes. When Jean touched her udder though, she uttered a 
fearful moo — o, and jumped to one side. Jean gave a respon- 
sive leap of about five feet and landed in a puddle of water; 
but in an instant the cow had her head in the bucket again. 
Once more Jean went up and took hold of her, and again 
they both went through the jumping act; but this time Jean 
landed in a sitting posture with the cow between her and the 
gate. By this time everybody including the cow, was thor- 
oughly nervous and when the cow started towards her seden- 
tary assailant Alice cried in terror: 

“Run Jean! Run for your life!” 

Jean scrambled up and started for the fence at her best 
speed and the exasperated cow, seeing the other bucket which 
she wished to investigate carried off before her eyes, followed 
with head down and tail up. There were simultaneous shrieks 
from the four sentinels and they tumbled off their posts as 
Jean made the fence and scrambled over — the cow lending 
assistance from behind. As she fell upon her back in the 
mud, limp and exhausted, something warm gushed over her 
throat, everything became dark, there were strange noises 


WRESTLING WITH DIFFICULTIES 


87 


in her ears through which the cries of the children came to 
her with a strange metallic ring, and she closed her eyes with 
the thought that she would never open them again. The 
next instant Alice knocked the tin pail from over her face 
and catching her by the hands whispered through pale lips: 

“Jump and run! She’s climbing over the fence after you!” 

The sight of the cow’s head poked over the fence just above 
her lent Jean energy and with a good deal of alacrity for a 
girl who had just closed her eyes for the last time upon this 
mortal world, she sprang up and flew with Alice to the house. 
At the back door they were met by the mother in her night 
clothes who had been frightened by the screaming. 

“O my child! are you dead? Are you sure you are not 
killed!” and upon being assured that Jean really wasn’t dead 
she was so overcome that Alice had to let go Jean and the 
two had to support her into the house. When they had cov- 
ered her up warmly on the lounge in the dining room where 
Alice had meant to make Jean lie down, Jean dropped into 
a chair and began to shake with a nervous rigor. Upon dis- 
covering which the mother grew worse so rapidly that Jean 
had to recover forthwith and go about putting the breakfast 
upon the table. 

Joanna, a woman who did the family washing for the rent 
of some of the servants’ rooms, had heard the hubbub, and 
came in to say that she would attend to the cow for part of 
the milk. While they were eating breakfast she came back 
with a diagnosis of the cow’s case. Her udder was sore from 
not having been milked the day before, she was hungry, and 
missed her calf. 

“I have it!” cried Duke, “we’ll feed the turnips and potatoes 
to her and let Sarah be the calf! Come, Sarah, let’s hear you 
baa — baa — a!” 

Dropping her head upon the table, Sarah proceeded to 
comply with the request. 


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“Marmaduke, leave my table!” said his mother sternly, 
from the lounge. 

Duke leisurely finished his breakfast, got up, kicked his 
chair under the table, and went out saying: 

“I wouldn’t mind having to eat John’s old turnips and 
potatoes if he hadn’t sent us such a crybaby.” 

Fortunately it was Saturday and Jean could afford to spend 
the rest of the day combing and washing the dirt out of her 
back hair. 


CHAPTER IX. 




ARCHIE ENLISTS. 

NE afternoon Alice stood bare- 
headed in the whistling wind at 
the avenue gate, but instead of her 
usual question she said in a voice 
sharp with disappointment: 

“Just think, dear, Mr. Crosby 
passed here just now and told me 
he had offered Duke fifty cents a day to clerk 
for him till the holidays, and he wouldn’t 
take it!” 

“Oh, no! Surely he didn’t refuse it? There 
must be some mistake,” said Jean incredu- 
lously. 

“That’s what he said,” continued Alice, 
“and I know Duke too well to think it’s a mistake.” 

“Fifty cents a day! How much that would buy!” said Jean, 
wistfully. 

“It would just make us rich for Christmas!” 

“And keep us from having to disappoint poor little old 
Archie and Kit about Santa Claus. Had you thought of that?” 

“Yes, and have been racking my brain to invent some way 
to keep from it, but I’m at my wit’s end.” 

“What did you say to Mr. Crosby?” Jean asked returning 
to their one gleam of hope. 

“I asked him not to give the place to any one else till I 
could speak to mamma about it, as we are very anxious for 

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Duke to have some employment. I put it on that ground 
so he wouldn’t suspect how hard pressed we are. But after- 
wards I was sorry I said anything; for he may suspect after 
all.” 

“He can’t think we are harder pressed than we are,” Jean 
said gloomily. 

“That’s so, but I’d rather die than have people know it.” 

“So would I!” Jean assented, though with less spirit than 
Alice. “But let’s talk to Duke; he must have some feeling 
and will do something if we tell him how badly mamma needs 
things.” 

“I’m willing to try, but I don’t think he will,” said Alice; 
and then she added eagerly, “and, O Jean, Callie has just 
been here and they are going to give the grandest masquerade 
Christmas, and she wants me to go; and don’t you think I 
can manage it somehow?” 

“You and Callie are too young to turn out as young ladies, 
and I don’t think mamma will let you go.” 

“But it isn’t given to Callie’s set; just to get into society, 
don’t you understand? And mamma has already said I may 
go if I won’t mask and Callie says she won’t either; and don’t 
you think we can find something in the attic to make me a 
dress of?” There must be something left of all those beautiful 
dresses mamma used to have! If I could only find that 
changeable green and gold silk, or even the black and green 
plaid one.” 

“Don’t you know mamma says she gave all those to herstep- 
daughters who were married during the war?” 

“But they couldn’t have worn them out entirely, and I’m 
so slender I could get a dress out of most anybody’s. Oh! its 
so hard to stay shut up here all the time and never have any 
fun like other girls!” 

“I know!” said Jean, “and I’ll do all I can to help you, 
but don’t be too hopeful.” 


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“Most anything will do for an occasion like that, because 
it will pass for fancy dress, don’t you think?” pleaded Alice. 

That day dinner was hurried through with, and then two 
girls and a candle took their way to the attic. There were 
many receptacles to be searched and they went through them 
thoroughly, but their only reward was some home spun 
dresses; a lot of bonnets, hats, and fans made of palmetto, 
straw or shucks and ornamented with plumes and rosettes 
of the same; some gutta percha rings made by William Henry 
while in prison, during the war; a confederate hoopskirt of the 
mother’s made of cloth with reeds run into it; some old uni- 
forms; a broken sword; and the battle flag of John’s regiment, 
made of the silk dresses of the girls who presented it, and 
ornamented with the cord and tassel of Jean’s baby cloak. 

Alice sat down and cried and the tears made little streaks 
through the dust that had settled on her face. 

“I don’t see anything for it,” she said at last, “but to array 
myself in mamma’s hoopskirt, William Henry’s rings, and a 
palmetto hat, wrap the flag about me, take the broken sword 
and go as the Lost Cause.” 

“Which would be very appropriate with that face,” said 
Jean laughing. 

“Altogether too appropriate to our condition all the way 
through, to be at all funny. I don’t see why you feel called 
on to laugh at everything I say, Jean.” 

“You would in this instance, if you had a glass before you.” 

“I’m nothing in the world but a monkey for this family,” 
said Alice, rubbing the offending face vigorously, “and I’d 
just as well get me a red coat and a caudal appendage and go 
into the business.” 

Jean laughed so much that Alice had to join in, and then, 
somehow, the disappointment didn’t seem so hard to bear. 
As they turned to leave Alice spied another trunk and ex- 
claimed: 


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“There’s one we haven’t opened yet!” 

“Yes, but that’s Elise’s.” 

“Eureka! — and I’m another! Behold our inheritance! 
Where is the key?” 

“No matter where the key is, we are not going into it.” 

“I don’t see why; whatever is in it was bought with papa’s 
money of which Elise has wasted more than you or I will 
ever see.” 

“All of which doesn’t make it honorable for us to go into 
her trunk.” 

“Well, I’m going to ask mamma if I mayn’t,” and taking 
up the candle they went down to consult the mother who 
took sides with Jean. 

“Well, I must say you all have a fine opinion of Elise,” said 
Alice, hotly. 

“No, it isn’t that I doubt Elise’s generosity; it is simply 
a question of honor.” 

“I don’t know who would ask her for her old clothes; I’m 
sure I wouldn’t. And for my part I’m glad I’m no stickler 
for such shades of a shadow, though I do consider myself as 
honorable as anybody.” * 

“My Aunt Sally is des as good as you!” sang Duke, who 
came in in time to hear Alice’s last remark; and again she 
had to laugh and let her wrath blow over. 

That night two white robed figures stole into Duke’s room 
and seated themselves on the side of the bed where he was 
lying. 

“Oh, pshaw!” he exclaimed, when he had heard their mis- 
sion, “if that’s what you are after you’d as well dry up. Work? 
No sirree! Nobody works but niggers and poor whities!” 

Then they made a touching little appeal about necessity and 
all that. 

“There isn’t any necessity,” he declared, “other people who 
don’t own half the property we have won’t do it.” 


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Then Jean spoke of the mother — how frail and delicate she 
was, and how she needed delicacies they couldn’t get for her. 
But he replied indifferently: 

“Mamma could have things different if she wanted to.” 

Then Alice tried him in her own cutting way. She and he 
both had red heads and there was nearly always a score to 
be settled between them. She shamed him for letting his 
sisters work and wait on him while he did nothing. But Duke 
only rolled over grinning and replied: 

“The more fools you! Why don’t you sit still and hold 
your hands and let old man Bruce do the stirring? Don’t 
you know that as long as you do as you do, he’s going to let 
you look out for yourselves? I’ll tell you what,” he continued, 
rising upon his elbow and growing serious, “when I get to 
be a man I’m going to make him show up what he’s done 
with all that was turned over to him — at least with my part 
of it. No, I won’t work for fifty cents a day or fifty dollars 
a day, and you had just as well let me alone!” 

And disappointed once more, the girls went back to their 
room. 

The next day while the school-children were shouting at 
play, Jean sat with her head bowed on the desk in front of her; 
the little clock at her elbow ticked loudly in the unusual still- 
ness, but its ticking didn’t drown her troubled thoughts, 
Presently there was the sound of a pencil scraping on a slate 
and Archie’s voice said: 

“Jean is it S-a-n-t-y C-l-o-u-s Santy Claus?” Jean raised 
her head and answered: 

“No, dear, that isn’t it. But don’t spend your recess in 
here over your books. Just hear how much fun the others 
are having!” For reply Archie came and laid his slate in 
her lap. 

“I thought, dear,” he said, looking up confidently, “that 
as we’ve got to be so poor, I’d better write Santy Claus a 


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letter and ask him not to bring any foolishness, like toys, but 
to bring useful things. I need a new suit mighty bad and 
a pair of shoes; and I’ll tell him if he don’t think its being 
greedy, I’d like to have a new hat too. The brim is all torn 
off of mine and the boys do make so much fun!” 

As she looked down into the little fellow’s bright eyes 
Jean’s heart ached with fresh bitterness over the disappoint- 
ment which she knew was in store for him. Archie continued 
with boyish enthusiasm: 

“I was just thinking how much good it must do a fellow 
like old Santy to be able to help little poor boys and girls. 
If I was him I’d get me two trains — freight trains — and load 
’em up with things for little poor children and take ’em round 
first — before I took my sleigh and carried toys and the like 
to rich children.” 

With sudden resolution Jean said: 

“You are a strong, brave boy, Archie, aren’t you? and can 
help sister?” 

“You bet I can! Why, Jean, you would be astonished to 
see how strong I am; and I don’t feel tired all the time like 
I did last year. Just feel my muscle!” he continued, drawing 
his arm up. “And as for being brave, why I ain’t even scared 
in the dark now! Do you want me to get another job and 
make more money to buy nice things for mamma?” 

“It isn’t that, Archie; it is a strong brave, heart I need to 
help me bear trouble,” Jean replied. 

“Are you in trouble, dear?” he asked, a cloud coming over 
his face. 

“Yes, darling. Can you be sister’s little man and help her 
to bear it?” 

“Just try me and see!” was the brave answer, given with 
steady lips and eyes. 

“It is this, Archie,” she said, framing the boyish face with 
her hands, “there isn’t any Santa Claus. I have always filled 


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your stocking, and my trouble, which nearly kills me, is that 
I haven’t any money to buy Christmas things this year. So 
I thought I’d better tell you now and not have you disap- 
pointed that morning.” The last words were spoken with 
quivering lips as she saw the pallor which swept over the face 
in her hands. 

“No Santy Claus!” said Archie, in a stunned wav. 

“No, dear.” 

“And no sleigh and reindeers and bells?” 

“No, just loving parents and sisters who want to make little 
folks happy. But you are not going to cry about it, are you?” 

“No,” he answered with a strange calmness. 

Then Jean tried to tell him in a broken voice how bitter 
a trial it was to Alice and herself, but Archie was too dazed 
to understand; he pulled away from her and went back to his 
seat tearless indeed, but with the ruins of fairyland about his 
feet. No more for him would be the enchanting realm of the 
Unreal — realm more of Heaven than of earth. The scales had 
been torn from his trusting eyes and he now stared blankly 
into the dull, colorless world of reality. Jean watched him 
anxiously, frightened by the calm which she felt was worse 
than the most stormy fit of crying. At last she had to cover 
her face to fight back the storm of sobs and tears that threat- 
ened to sweep away all self-control. The clock had ticked off 
but a few seconds when Archie said: 

“Jean!” 

It was more a cry than a call, so sharp was the ring of 
suffering in its tones. 

Jean turned quickly. Half risen from his seat the child was 
leaning towards her with an agony of fear and doubt on his 
face. 

“Is it all a story, made up to fool little children with?” he 
asked. In an instant Jean was kneeling beside him trying 


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to press his head to her shoulder; but he held her off crying 
wildly : 

“Tell me, tell me quick!” 

“Is all what a story, Archie?” she asked. 

* ‘About the star and the shepherds and the angels singing 
and the little Christ child come to bring peace and good will 
— is it nothing but a story?” 

“No, no, my darling! That is the true part — the good part 
that is always true.” 

“How do you know?” he demanded. 

Poor Jean! This was probing deeper than she was pre- 
pared for, but she felt that she dared not evade or temporise, 
even though it was the blind leading the blind. 

“Listen to me, Archie!” she said, drawing him close. “There 
is one way that every one may know for themselves — know 
and be satisfied; and that is to do the Christ’s will — to live, 
as he lived, to do good to others. O Archie! I am trying that 
way, will you try with me? Shall we be partners, little man, 
you and I?” 

“Have you had disappointments too, dear?” he asked sym- 
pathetically. 

“Yes, I have given up the hope of my life, the opportunity 
to get a fine education, to stay here and help mamma and 
you children. But, darling, I would have given a great deal 
more, almost a part of life itself, to have spared your little 
heart this suffering; but I couldn’t — I couldn’t!” And with- 
out warning the storm broke, the floods came and clinging 
around the little fellow’s neck Jean cried with a vehemence 
she had never indulged over her personal sorrows. 

She could not have done a better thing for Archie; as with 
all generous natures there came to him the impulse to rise 
up and help and with it came strength. 

“Why, Jean!” he cried, stroking her hair, “you mustn’t cry 
about me; I’m all right now and you will see how brave and 


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strong I am. I understand it all now; and we will be partners, 
and help each other bear trouble and take care of mamma, 
if you just won’t break my heart by crying so!” 

“Oh!” sobbed Jean, “If Duke would only do his part I 
needn’t have done it — needn’t have told you!” Thereupon 
she had to explain about Duke. 

“Well,” said Archie, when he understood the whole of their 
troubles, “it’s best that you told me; for you see I’m getting 
to be such a big boy that I would soon have found out any- 
how and I’d rather you told me than any one else. Come, 
now, and let me pour some water for you to wash your face 
before it’s time to ring the bell. You feel better now, dear, 
don’t you?” he continued as she dried her face and brushed 
back her hair. 

“Yes,” said Jean, more comforted than she would have be- 
lieved possible a few minutes before. 

“Now you won’t cry any more? and we will be partners and 
try the good way together, won’t we?” he asked. 

“I’ll promise if you will,” she said, trying to smile. 

“Done!” he cried with a boyish shout, “and I think, Jean, 
that will be nearly as good as having a real Santy Claus to 
come.” And in breezy good spirits, he arranged the things 
on her desk and rang the bell. 

But there was no more study for Archie that afternoon; 
he had taken a great leap forward in life and his mind was 
all aflame with new thoughts and purposes. After squirming 
and twisting in his seat for half an hour, he went to the desk 
with an excited face and said: 

“I wish you would let me go now, Jean; I can’t study.” 
It was early for his last bucket of water but she let him go; 
and afterwards began to think about his excitement and grew 
uneasy. 

When school was out she went by where the carpenters were 
at work, but they said he had not been there since noon. She 


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was hurrying home with quickened step when Archie him- 
self hailed her, and as she turned he came running up. 

“Just think, dear, Mr. Crosby says he’ll take me instead 
of Duke and will give me twenty-five cents a day!” he said, 
almost out of breath. “Ain’t that splendid? A little boy like 
me to make all that! Will it be enough to buy things for 
mamma and get some Christmas too?” 

Almost as much excited as Archie himself, Jean counted 
the days till the holidays. 

“Yes, that will get a nice Christmas dinner and leave enough 
to buy you a new pair of shoes.” 

“No, dear. Not anything for me; you know we are going 
to try the good way — to live for others,” he said earnestly. 

“Well, then we will get the dinner and keep the rest to 
spend for mamma. Will that do?” 

“That will be it!” he cried, eagerly; “for you see I may not 
be able to get my other job back again. But, Jean,” he added, 
angrily, “you are not to let Duke have any of what my money 
buys — not one bite!” 

That same thought had already come to her, but Jean didn’t 
recognize its ugliness till it looked up at her out of Archie’s 
truthful eyes. 

“Do you think,” she asked, “that the little Christ boy would 
have done that way when He was here?” 

A blush of shame and confusion spread over Archie’s face, 
and for a moment he hung his head, then looking up bravely 
though with swimming eyes he said: 

“No, dear, I know He wouldn’t; and I reckon a fellow 
must do like Him, if he expects to get any of the peace and 
good will He brought. So you must do just like He would 
with the money.” 

Jean winced as she found that the test was to be applied 
to herself too, it is so much easier to preach than to practice; 


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but to Archie the big sister was infallible, and he continued 
eagerly: 

“And you must get some Santy things for Kit — you haven’t 
told her, have you?” 

“No; I’m glad I haven’t!” 

“So am I; ’cause it would be such a dis-dis’pointment to 
her.” 

The last words were almost a sob though Archie smiled 
cheerily as he went on. 

“I’ve set in already and must go back to work now; I just 
asked him to let me run and tell you so you wouldn’t be 
uneasy if I was late getting home to-night.” 

It was late and Jean had gone to the door and looked out 
many times before she saw the little figure trotting through 
of the moonlight. The child was tired, cold and hungry, but 
^ talked gaily as he ate his poor supper, of the wonderful wages 
"■* he was earning, the fine toys in Mr. Crosby’s store, and what 
he was going to get for Kit’s stocking. The next night after 
going to bed he got up and went into Jean’s room crying with 
pains in his knees; she got up and warmed and rubbed him, 
and, as she noticed the spareness of the childish limbs, and 
thought what a poor protection from the cold his worn cloth- 
ing was, she determined not to let him go back to the store, 
but when morning came she didn’t have the heart to rob him 
of the delight he found in feeling that he was helping to bear 
others’ burdens. 

A few days after Archie’s windfall, Jean carried home a 
letter from Elise; she wrote seldom, and as her letters were 
always great treats, Jean and Alice stopped to hear it before 
going about dinner. 

“Oh! children, Elise is going to be married,” cried the 
mother excitedly, after reading a few lines. There was a 
flutter, and the two girls cuddled near to hear more — Jean 
kneeling on the rug before the fire and Alice sitting on an 


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arm of the mother’s chair and trying to read over her shoulder. 

“And going to Europe on her bridal tour!” continued Mrs. 
Conway, giving the news as she gleaned it from the pages 
before her. 

“Now, mamma! That isn’t at all fair, when poor Jean has 
been just dying to go all her life, and I would enjoy it so much 
myself! Oh! why are things so unequally divided in this 
world?” 

Jean said nothing, but turned her face away quickly to hide 
the flood of envy which swept over it. 

“But I hope,” said the mother, her eyes continuing to fol- 
low the lines, “that neither of you would be willing to marry 
just to go.” 

“Why, of course not!” said both girls together; and Jean 
added. “What made you think of such a thing?” 

“Listen to this!” said Mrs. Conway, and she read in a 
shocked voice: 

“For my fiance, as I call him, I can’t say much. He is 
neither pretty, smart, nor good; nor has he that other recom- 
mendation which the old woman in the joke congratulated 
her daughter upon possessing, that of being a healthy child. 
His one virtue (besides his shekels), which I make much of, 
is that he is devoted to your humble servant. I myself can’t 
boast of being the victim of a grand passion, but I do intend 
to be good to the poor boy and try to make him happy; and 
that, you know, is what we ought to live for.” 

As the mother read, a chill fell over the interest of her hear- 
ers. They had never thought much about it, but like all young 
people whose hearts are uncorrupted by the world, they re- 
volted at the idea of a mercenary marriage. And that Elise — 
the beautiful sister, the enchanting heroine around whom in 
their thoughts all that was romantic centered — that she of all 
people, should descend so low was a shock to them. They 
had little heart for the rest of the letter in which she dwelt 


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so joyfully on the prospect of going abroad again and the 
immense advantage of buying her wedding outfit In Paris. 

After they had gone into the kitchen the mother came to 
the door and said: 

“Here’s a postscript that will interest you. ‘Tell Jean and 
Alice there’s some old finery of mine in a trunk in the attic 
which they may find useful.’ ” 

“I wish she had not written at all, but had gone along and 
married, if she had to, without saying a word about it,” said 
Jean. 

“I don’t! Not a bit of it!” Alice put in briskly. “Of course 
I’m awful sorry she’s going to marry like that, but it’s com- 
forting to have left to us the mournful duty of administering 
on her estate.” 

After dinner they hurried to the attic and were soon lost 
in wonder over the riches that trunk disgorged. First, there 
was a tray full of odds and ends, ribbons and laces and the 
like, to delight any girl’s heart. Beneath and spread over the 
other contents as if for protection, was a big waterproof cloak; 
just the thing to make the mother a wrapper. Then in a 
separate tray there was an ivory colored moire evening dress 
with slippers to match, which the girls recognized as the 
dress in which Elise had been presented at court, an occasion 
they had never tired of hearing about. 

“Now we must save this for a wedding occasion,” said 
Alice, carefully folding back the part they had lifted up for 
inspection. 

“I’m afraid it will go to pieces from natural decay if it is 
saved for that,” said Jean. 

“It may if it waits for you, but not for me,” Alice asserted, 
confidently. 

Next they drew out a brown velvet which Alice jumped at 
exclaiming: 

“Mine, because it will set off my hair so beautifully. Isn’t 


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it grand? And there, Jean, is just the thing for you!” she 
continued, as they came upon a blue walking suit. In true 
Parisian style there were boots to match each suit, which was 
a great cause of rejoicing. All these things had been laid 
away when Elise came home and went into mourning for her 
father, but thanks to the good price she had paid for them, 
and the careful packing they had received at the hands of a 
French maid in New Orleans, they were still in excellent con- 
dition. 

After that for many nights it was a jolly and a busy group 
that lingered around the dining room fire long after the 
mother, Duke and Kit were snug in bed. Never before had 
Christmas found them without the means of adding to one 
another’s pleasure, yet never were they so anxious to do so, 
or so grateful for what they had in prospect. As Alice said 
after the prospect of nothing, even the certainty of one good 
dinner and a few old clothes made them happy. 

There was much to be done; they must make the mother’s 
wrapper and work over her arm chair which had been under- 
going a gradual collapse for years, and Alice was obliged 
to have her dress for the masquerade. Archie undertook to 
renovate the old doll house and fit it up with broken toys, 
which he could get for little' and mend; and never Santa Claus, 
since he was instituted, enjoyed his task more. 

“Ain’t it the best fun you ever had!” he would exclaim in 
glee when he had succeeded in patching up some damaged 
article. “Just think of old Kit fast asleep and me playing 
Santy!” And once he stole up to Jean and whispered: “I 
reckoned this is what He meant when He said ‘it is more 
blessed to give than to receive,’ don’t you?” 

Alice had no end of trouble with the chair; for in taking 
it to pieces she unwittingly loosened the straps which held 
down the spiral springs and Jean and Archie had to spend 
an hour’s valuable time sitting on them while she fastened 


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them down again. And when she went to put the hair stuffing 
back there was at least enough for three chairs; but Alice was 
a determined girl and when she got a hammer and the poker 
that hair went in without more ado. However, when she 
complacently took a seat in the chair after it was done she 
said it acted as if there was a live animal in it, horns, hoofs 
and all; and Jean had to take one of those precious nights 
and help to fix it. That made everything right, except that 
Alice’s dress would have to be finished Christmas day, but 
Jean didn’t complain and they had lots of fun over their work. 

The day before Christmas, as Jean was getting ready to 
go to town and lay out Archie’s little earnings, Uncle Bruce 
called and left a huge basket. On top was a note from his 
wife saying she had sent a Christmas remembrance of such 
things as she made at home. The girls dived into the basket 
before Uncle Bruce was well out of the gate and found the 
very prince of big turkeys, and oh, such heaps and heaps of 
other good things that they liked never to have gotten to 
sleep that night for thinking of them. 


CHAPTER X. 


SKIRMISHING ALL ALONG THE LINE. 

~ HE coming of the basket from Mock 
' -r\ % Orange made it possible for Jean and 
• _ ; Archie to spend a little money for 

presents, and Christmas morn- 
ing was cheered by little sur- 
prises marked in Archie's best 
print “From Jean and Archie.” 
Mamma cried a little over the 
slippers which “filled a long felt 
want.” Alice was delighted 
with the gloves, which just 
matched her dress, though they 
did have an uncertain look 
about them which suggested 
the bargain counter, and made 
it impossible to trust one’s self 
entirely in their hands. Duke 
was remembered with some 
new collars, and Jean was glad to see that he looked a little 
ashamed as he received them. He turned it off in his usual 
aggravating way, however, saying: 

“Why, Jean, you're a regular Good Little Hen; hereafter I 
shall call you ‘Jenny, the good little hen.’ ” 

Kit was simply rich, and Archie's pleasure knew no bounds. 
After a royal breakfast out of Aunt Bruce’s basket, eaten 
with more than royal appetites, Duke filled his pockets with 



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105 


what was left and went for a day’s hunting; Archie walked to 
the post-office; and while the girls were tidying up, Noona 
and her two children came. 

She had not been to see them in a long time, but the re- 
proaches the mother had in store for her were silenced by their 
thin, ashen appearance. They were thinly clad, too, though 
their clothes were clean and well darned. Poor Noona was 
evidently faring hardly too, and the fact added another thread 
to the cord of love and sympathy between her and her white 
people. 

The mother made her sit down in the dining room and they 
had a long talk about their troubles. Jim had taken to drink- 
ing, Noona said, and as the white ladies with machines were 
getting all the sewing, she had grown so poor that she had 
been ashamed to come, but love had at last conquered pride, 
and she had come in her rags. As they talked, she and the 
mother had a good cry over their misfortunes; then, bethinking 
themselves that it was Christmas, they cheered up and talked 
of the happy Christmas times in the past. With evident pleas- 
ure, Noona slipped into her old place and went to work to help 
Alice with the dinner, while Jean set to work on her sister’s 
unfinished dress. 

When Archie came from the office, he rushed in shouting: 

“Did you ever see such a glorious Christmas?” and laid a 
package on Jean’s lap. “I’m so glad somebody has thought 
of you, Jean!” he continued excitedly. “And just think, Mr. 
Crosby called me as I came by and said I could come back 
and help him to-day. Dick Jones is drunk, and he’s having 
more trade than he can attend to.” 

“But you’ve been working hard, and you ought to rest and 
play and enjoy your Christmas dinner!” remonstrated Jean. 

“Oh, he’ll let me come home to dinner! and it’ll be another 
quarter made, don’t you see?” and Archie was off in a hurry. 

Jean’s package proved to be one of Holland’s inspiring 


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books for young men and women, and a Christmas card, from 
Robert Bruce; it was pleasant — more pleasant than she had 
ever thought — to be thus unexpectedly remembered, but there 
was no time for even thoughts of books then. 

It was discovered that Duke had left without cutting any 
wood, and there was the worry of hunting up some one to do 
it, a worry aggravated by the thought that part of Archie's 
day’s earnings would have to go to pay for it. In the course 
of the morning, too, a neighboring child came in with a doll 
carriage, which took all the pleasure out of Kit’s toys. 

“Now, Jean,” she cried angrily, “why didn’t you get me one, 
too?” 

“You are certainly not going to blame me for what Santa 
Claus didn’t do!” Jean replied. 

“Oh you can’t fool me! You put the things in my stocking, 
and it was mean of you not to get me a carriage, too!” and Kit 
proceeded to sulk the rest of the day. 

The dinner passed off finely, Noona waiting smilingly as of 
old and Alice at the head of the table carving the big turkey, 
which she named Uncle Bruce with many funny little jokes. 
It was elegantly cooked, but both Noona and Alice disclaimed 
the credit, each asserting with pride that she was no cook. 

As the day waned, Jean had to make her fingers fly in order 
to get the dress done, and Alice grew so fidgety over it and so 
hard to please as to seem utterly ungrateful. Noona left before 
it was finished, and, having no one to talk to, the mother began 
to worry over Duke’s failure to return at the time he had prom- 
ised; and so between Alice and the mother, Jean put in the last 
stitches in the fading light utterly tired and flurried. It was 
done at last and turned over to Alice, and, having set out din- 
ner for Duke who came in just then, Jean sat down to her book. 

The room was bright and cheery, and the mother in her cor- 
ner was happy once more; but Jean was too heartily discour- 
aged to take any pleasure in either the book or her surround- 


SKIRMISHING ALL ALONG THE LINE 


107 


ings, and sat asking herself what all her efforts amounted to. 
Poor girl! she had anticipated an ideal Christmas and had 
spent herself unsparingly to make it such. 

But alas for ideals in this world of ours ! How little of good 
or ill that falls to our lots comes when or as we anticipate it! 
Into Jean’s unhappy thoughts Archie burst at last. 

“Hello, Kit!” he cried cheerily. “I’ve got the baby wagon, 
and I reckon you’re fixed now! She’s a beauty, and Mr. 
Crosby let me have her for to-day’s Work. She only needs a 
nail or two and a little glue to make her all right. I’ll tell you 
what,” he added gleefully, as he rubbed his benumbed fingers 
before the fire, “if Dick Jones’ll only stay drunk, we’ll get 
rich!” 

“That’s fine morals!” said Duke, as he finished his dinner 
and got up. 

“And a nice critic of morals you are! — a boy that’s spent the 
day hunting and left his mother without fire!” The words 
and Alice came in the door together, and every one turned to 
her. 

“Why, hello! Here’s Queen Bess come to judgment with 
her locks like the rays of the setting sun and all!” said Duke 
in undisguised admiration as Alice came forward into the light. 
The brown velvet was immensely becoming to her sure enough, 
bringing out the bright tints of her golden brown hair and 
filling out the too slender figure. Without saying anything 
to anybody, she had ripped the foundation out of the Medici 
collar on the ivory moire, covered it with velvet, put a piece 
of the mother’s old point lace inside and added it to the dress 
for the evening. It gave her a stately air, and relieved the too 
slender neck, which was further relieved by a narrow gold 
chain and a blue enameled locket. Instead of having her hair 
dangling in a net at the back of her head as usual, she had 
plaited it and bound it around her pretty head like a tiara. Her 
brown eyes were sparkling with anticipation, and the red and 


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white roses of her complexion were striving for the posses- 
sion of her cheeks. Like most girls who have to bear the re- 
proach of being red-headed, Alice possessed a richness of 
coloring that made other girls look washed-out beside her. 
The dress was years too old for her, but she looked not unlike 
some dainty queen of ye olden time who had stepped down out 
of an old picture into the firelight. 

“Say, Al., where did you get that rig?” asked Duke, walk- 
ing around and surveying her with evident pride. 

“This,” said Alice sweetly, “is a present from my brother 
Duke. Probably you know him? A noble boy who does so 
much for his widowed mother and his sisters!” 

“Oh, come now! Let up! I could support you all easy 
enough, if I had a mind to!” answered Duke. 

“How?” said Alice, dropping at once to the practical. 

“Well, for one way, I know where there’s a beaver dam, 
and if I’d a mind to go and camp there and trap — ” 

“Oh!” cried Alice, clasping her hands and rolling up her 
eyes in mock ecstacy, “wouldn’t that be romantically rustic, 
ideally idyllic, and all that! We could eat beaver meat, dress in 
their skins, and live in the dam; and after a year or two you 
could exhibit us as the Wild Women of the Woolly West, 
make a fortune, and all live happily ever afterward. Duke, my 
boy, your hand! Your genius is something sublime!” 

“Oh my children! this is Christmas! Don’t quarrel,” said 
the mother pleadingly. 

“It’s all Alice’s fault! She pitched into me. But she can’t 
help it, poor thing, on account of her red head,” said Duke 
maliciously. 

“The idea of a walking volcano talking about other people’s 
heads!” said Alice, in an indignant parenthesis, and then she 
continued sharply, “Of course I pitched into you! You knew 
I’d pitch into you when you went away from here this morn- 
ing without bringing in any wood.” 


SKIRMISHING ALL ALONG THE LINE 


109 


“I thought,” said Duke, affecting a lofty indifference, “that 
I’d let Arch be your factotum to-day.” 

“You know as well as anybody that Archie can’t tote ’em 
big sticks of wood to save his life!” Alice retorted. 

“That’s a fac!” returned Duke drily. Jean and the mother 
laughed, and good humor being in a measure restored, Alice 
went to the piano and began a little Scotch song that she had 
come across somewhere. 'The voice like Alice herself was too 
girlishly thin as yet, but it was sweet as the notes of the mock- 
ing bird that sang in the oak beside her window. There was a 
plaintiveness in some of its cadences that in one of a gentle dis- 
position would have suggested an early death; but there was 
too much sharpness of wit and tongue about Alice for one to 
connect her with the idea of broken lilies, faded flowers, and 
the like. The lilting, though pathetic music of the song suited 
her voice better than the longer strains she had always at- 
tempted, and the mother and Jean listened in surprise. 

“Jean, dear, isn’t my dress pretty?” she asked, whirling 
round on the piano stool when the song was finished. 

“Yes, I’m realy surprised to see how pretty it is. I don’t 
think there will be many prettier or more becoming ones 
there,” Jean answered. 

“Now all I lack is a pair of gloves,” said the young diplomat, 
rubbing the back of first one hand and then the other. “A pair 
of white kid gloves would complete my toilet and my hap- 
piness.” 

Jean only smiled. 

“Where are the ones you got for a Christmas gift?” asked 
Archie, looking up from the corner where he and Kit were at 
work on the carriage. 

“Oh no! you don’t catch me wearing my new gloves; they’re 
too nice; and besides they are to last me a year, and maybe for 
years and years,” said Alice, giving the donor a bright smile. 
“Do, Jean, please let me wear yours!” she added coaxingly. 


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“You know I’ve put them away as a memento of my gradu- 
ating night/’ Jean answered evasively. 

“But I won’t hurt them; and they’ll be endeared to both of 
us after this.” 

It was hard to deny Alice anything, and it seemed almost 
cruel to spoil her pleasure now by sending her off bare-handed; 
so Jean smothered a little sigh and said: 

“Very well.” 

Alice flew out and came back quickly with her arms full of 
shawls and a pretty “head gear” of white wool, which Callie 
had sent her. 

“I won’t put them on till the very last minute!” she said, 
beginning to invest herself with the shawls; for the Beard car- 
riage had come for her. 

“Duke,” she said gaily, pausing with her hand on the knob 
as she was leaving, “I saw Lottie to-day.” 

“Did you? And what did The Sweetest have to say?” asked 
Duke brightening up at this truce signal from Alice. 

“She said to tell you the next time you went hunting to send 
her a string of — grasshoppers,” and with a mocking laugh 
Alice was gone. 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Duke, with a teased grin, for the 
constant failure of his hunting-trips was a sore point with 
him; “Alice is going to be a stunner. She’s another cut to you 
already, Jean.” 

“Yes, and I’m glad of it,” Jean answered without envy. 
“Alice is certainly going to be a beautiful woman.” 

“And can’t she sing, though?” Duke continued, enthusias- 
tically. 

“I think,” said the mother, looking up from her book, “that 
all my children are talented.” 

“All, except Jean,” interrupted Duke. 

The mother continued: “Mr. Crosby told Jean the other 
day that Archie is a born financier; and I wish you would look 


SKIRMISHING ALL ALONG THE LINE 


111 


at those animals Katie cut to-day! They are a great deal better 
than I can make.” 

“And my talent,” Duke began, “lies in — ” 

“Hunting!” said Jean sarcastically. 

“No you don’t, my young lady! Not quite so fast!”* her 
brother returned, taking from his various pockets and setting 
on the table a beautiful set of chess men. 

“O Duke! give ’em to me!” cried Kit. 

“No, mam, I thank you! These are for the delectation of 
your humble-come-tumble. And now, Jean, what have you 
got to say?” 

“I say,” said Jean hotly, “that a boy who can do anything 
as well as that and won’t try to help his mother and sisters is 
a disgrace to himself and his family.” 

“O children, don’t quarrel! Let’s have peace because we 
have so little else,” said their mother. 

Duke’s only reply to Jean was a laugh, as he said: 

“Come, Mamma, what do you say to a game?” And though 
Jean knew she hated chess, the mother laid aside her book to 
play with him. 

Left to herself, Jean turned to her book again; but she had 
no heart for its lofty sentiments, though she continued to hold 
it up before her. Such books, she thought, were all very well 
for people like Robert who could spend time and money in 
cultivating themselves; but what place did they have in a life 
like hers, spent in drudgery of mind and body? Aroused by 
her disappointment in the day, her old enemy, Self, awoke and 
began to battle for supremacy again. 

“Oh yes,” it whispered tauntingly, “you have thrown away 
your opportunity in life to stay here and drudge, and what good 
has it done? Your mother isn’t one bit happier for it; she 
makes herself miserable anyhow, and it might as well be about 
you as any of the rest; indeed, she would love you much better 
if you didn’t try to do your duty, but just went your own way 


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as the others are doing. She has no appreciation of the sac- 
rifice you made for her, while for Duke there, who won’t lift a 
hand to help himself or any one else, she can’t do enough. And 
as for the others, you see your hardest efforts can’t make one 
really happy; even when you’ve taken poor little old Archie’s 
hard earnings and spent it all on them, they are not pleased 
or grateful. Talk about the force of a good example! Pshaw! 
They have just taken advantage of your willingness to bear 
your share of the burden to put off theirs on you, too. You are 
nothing but a pack-horse for the family. No, you would have 
done a great deal better if you had left the others to work out 
their own salvation and gone off and prepared yourself to shine 
in the world; then you might have accomplished something 
worth working for — then your example would have been 
worth following. Wouldn’t you do better even now to go back 
and take the other way?” 

Breaking in upon these unpleasant thoughts every now and 
then, Jean caught a ripple of fun from the corner where the 
doll-house stood; and after a while she turned so she could 
watch Archie and Kit without them knowing it. They had 
finished the carriage and Archie was taking lessons in the 
mysteries of housekeeping. Once in a while, when they would 
get something arranged particularly to their satisfaction, there 
would be an outburst of glee and he would roll and kick and try 
in boyish fashion to stand on the back of his neck. 

There could be no mistaking the genuineness of his pleasure; 
he had no doubts or regrets about his choice; and no battles 
with self. Yet he possessed himself not one of the toys which 
made Christmas what it is to other children; and his ragged 
shoes and shabby clothes, Jean knew, were a constant morti- 
fication to him. Jean could only watch him and wonder. After 
a while, the game finished, Duke lounged off to bed. 

Jean laid down her book and making a gesture towards 
Archie said bitterly: 


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113 


“Mamma, that is the best child you have; he’s worth all the 
rest of us together; and you don’t appreciate him.” 

“You are mistaken, my child. I know you and he are as 
good children as any mother was ever blessed with, and for 
that reason I am not anxious about you. I feel sure that if 
God regards us at all, if He hasn’t forgotten us altogether, He 
will certainly reward you two for what you are to me. It is 
because I am so anxious about the others, the wayward ones 
who deserve so little, that you think me partial. But, my 
child, you can’t know a mother’s heart.” 

“i am not one of the deserving ones,” said Jean, with sudden 
contrition, “but Archie is, and I am jealous for him.” 

“Yes, you are one of the deserving. I have felt it more to- 
day than ever. It was so good and thoughtful of you, dear, not 
to leave Duke out in the distribution of presents this morning. 
Of course it was Archie’s money, but I am sure it was your 
thoughtfulness, and you couldn’t have done anything that 
would have touched me more. And I want to ask you, dear, 
not to nag and worry Duke about going to work; and to try 
and keep Alice from doing so.” The mother glanced around 
hurriedly, then, leaning over with oh! such a frightened look 
in her sad eyes, she whispered, “Do you know, he has threat- 
ened to run away?” 

Jean felt the angry blood leap to her face, and she ex- 
claimed indignantly: 

“The wretch! And did you let that frighten you?” 

“It would kill me! O child, you don’t — you can’t know a 
mother’s heart!” 

“I mean,” said Jean, “that he has no idea of doing such a 
thing. There’s no other place in the world where he would be 
housed, fed, and waited on, even in our poor way, for nothing; 
and Duke knows that well enough. Make yourself easy; for 
even if he should try it, he would soon run back faster than he 
went off.” 


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“But you don’t understand Duke as I do. He has a great 
deal of me in him, and it won’t do to push him too far. He is 
a high spirited boy, and I know feels our condition keenly, 
though his spirit revolts at the idea of manual labor.” 

“I haven’t any sympathy with that kind of high spirit which 
is willing to be a burden on others rather than submit to the 
degradation of doing its own part,” Jean answered scornfully. 

“I suppose you intend that for me, too,” said the mother 
in a deeply injured tone. 

For a moment Jean was dumb with an overwhelming sense 
of injustice; then in a hard firm voice and as if weighing every 
syllable, she replied: 

“Mamma, you can’t look me in the eyes and repeat that, for 
you know it is cruelly unjust.” 

“I don’t know why,” said the mother, without looking up, “if 
you feel that way about Duke you shouldn’t about me, too; 
I’m sure I don’t do any more than he does!” 

“For the simple reason, if there were no other, that you are 
my mother. But there is another reason, which is that you 
have done and are doing all that your health and strength 
permit. If you were young and strong and stood on the same 
footing with me as Duke does, I should certainly let you know 
what I thought of you, if you acted as he does.” 

Seeing that her end was not to be reached in this way, the 
mother wisely changed her tactics and said: 

“But you yourself have not always been unselfish, my 
child.” 

“No’m. I’m not unselfish now; in fact I am very, very 
selfish,,” Jean replied, her own voice answering the changed 
tone of the mother’s. 

“But I have never reproached you for your selfishness.” 

“No’m,” in a very contrite voice. 

“Well, dear, all I ask is that you give your brother the same 
opportunity that I gave you. I am sure he will come out all 


SKIRMISHING ALL ALONG THE LINE 


115 


right in the end, if we will only be patient with him and try to 
make home as pleasant for him as possible. Don’t — don’t drive 
him from the shelter of home and his mother’s love! O Jean, 
you have always been my good child, and I know you will not 
fail me now!” 

And then Jean promised all that was asked of her and would 
have promised a great deal more in the light in which the 
mother placed things. 

While they \yere talking, silence fell over the corner where 
the children were playing, and when Jean went to put them to 
bed, they were sound asleep. As she tumbled him into bed, 
Archie said drowsily: 

“I’m so glad you helped me to find it, dear!” 

“Find what?” she asked curiously, but the little fellow was 
asleep. 

“Archie! Archie!” she said shaking him up, “tell me what 
it is you are glad I helped you to find?” 

Archie rolled over and smiled as he said, without opening 
his eyes: 

“Why, the peace and good will He brought.” 

Jean sat for a long time on the side of the bed holding one 
of Archie’s hands and watching the boyish face where peace 
and good will had so unmistakably set their fair signet; and 
when at last she went to let Alice in, she, too, had won a battle 
and was ready to take up her burden again cheerfully. 

When Alice woke next morning, Jean was standing by the 
bureau gazing mournfully at one torn, soiled white glove. 

“Oh me! I meant to hide that and break the news to you 
gently,” said the culprit plaintively, sitting up in bed. “You 
see, dear, I lost the other and one of the young men stepped on 
that. I’m awful sorry, but I did have such a good time. If 
you only could know how I enjoyed myself, you wouldn’t fuss 
about it one bit!” 

“Well,” said Jean smiling at Alice’s woe-begone face in the 


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mirror, “I suppose it will do as well for a memento in that 
shape as any other. It will still serve to recall my life’s one 
brief hour of success.” 

“Jean Conway!” said Alice, gazing in astonishment at the 
smiling reflection in the glass, “why don’t you say something 
disgustingly mean, so I can quarrel at you and relieve my 
feelings?” 

“I don’t want to quarrel; the gloves are not worth it.” 

“But I do! It makes me feel horribly to have you take it in 
that saintly way. If you don’t let’s fuss 'it out right now, I’ll 
never have the face to borrow anything from you again.” 

“A dreadful alternative! and the only mitigating circum- 
stance I can see is that I am not likely ever to have anything 
worth borrowing again,” Jean replied, laughing, as she nearly 
always did at Alice’s queer turns. 

And poor Alice was so overcome with contrition that she 
spent all her spare time that morning in the kitchen, helping 
Jean and telling, in her own funny way, about the masquerade. 


CHAPTER XI 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


EAR the close of the holidays, 
brother John made his appear- 
ance alone one afternoon. 

“Where is Sarah?” was Mrs. 
Conway’s natural question after 
the greetings were over. 

“Well,” he said, looking em- 
barrassed, “F elicia thought as the 
• v weather would be bad now, she’d 
better board her in school, and I left 
her there this morning.” 

No one offered any comments; the 
mother looked annoyed for a moment, 
then she and John talked on various 
subjects, Jean and Alice sewed in si- 
lence, and Duke, lying on the lounge, went on with his novel. 

“Duke,” said John, after a while, “my carryall is going back 
empty; come and go home with me!” 

“Thank you!” said Duke, rolling over so as to get a view of 
the speaker, “I’m not visiting any just now.” 

“Oh! I didn’t mean for a visit; I mean, come and live with 
me. I’ll tell you what I’ll do!” John continued, facing about 
in his turn so as to bring the lounger into view. “I’ll furnish 
you a mule and as much land as you can cultivate of the best 
I have; ycur board shall cost you nothing, and with what you 
make, you can clothe yourself and go to school during the win- 

( 117 ) 



118 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


ter months. My own boys are working that way, and I’m will- 
ing to do as much for you.” 

Duke made little effort to conceal a grin of amusement, as 
he replied: 

“I’m obliged to you, but I don’t like to incur obligations I 
see no prospect of being able to remove.” 

John had to accept this for what it professed to be and he 
answered gravely: 

“Well, if you feel that way, I’ll get you a place as mail car- 
rier. You’ll get a salary — though not much — and will be able 
to pay your way as you go. The objections to the position are 
that you wouldn’t be able to save much and there’s no oppor- 
tunity for rising.” 

Duke got up and lounged to the fire, as he replied with the 
air of a young millionaire: 

“I’m inclined to think that that is not very well suited to my 
tastes either.” 

“Well,” said John, “of course it’s none of my business, but I 
have some curiosity to know what you propose to do.” 

Duke set his feet apart, stuck his hands deep into his pockets, 
and balancing himself first on heels and then on toes, said, with 
an expression of quizzical impudence: 

“I propose to spend my time for the most part in acquiring 
an intimate acquaintance with the works of our best authors, 
English and American, also with such writings of distinguished 
foreigners as have been translated into our mother tongue. I 
farther propose to spend such portions of my time as my health 
and pleasure may require in hunting, fishing, and other sports 
befitting a gentleman of means and leisure.” 

A flash leaped into John’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant, 
and he exhibited only his usual gentle gravity. But the mother 
had noticed the passing spark, and as Duke finished, she 
rushed to the rescue jealously, saying: 

“Really, John, Duke does himself great injustice through 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


119 


his fondness for guying, as he calls it; but I am sure he intends 
no disrespect by it. His real intention is to go into the law, 
and Rene has kindly offered to take him into his office as soon 
as he is of a suitable age. Duke had grown so tired of con- 
stant study that I allowed him to remain away from school this 
year in order to read; you know how important it is for a law- 
yer to be thoroughly conversant with literature. I think Duke 
has quite a gift of oratory; I wish you could hear him declaim. 
Duke, suppose you render Antony’s oration over Caesar’s 
dead body for your brother!” 

Duke looked embarrassed, but as John didn’t express any 
desire to be edified by Antony’s oration, the mother didn’t 
insist. 

“I’ll tell you what mother ought to do with you, Duke,” 
John said, when certain that the mother had no more to say. 

“Be so good!” Duke replied with a mocking suavity learned 
from Rene. 

“I think,” said John, more gently grave than ever, “that she 
ought to take you to the best tatilor in town and have you 
fitted out in broadcloth, buy you some patent leather shoes, a 
silk hat, kid gloves, a gold headed cane, and an eye-glass; then 
she ought to take you to the door and — kick you out!” 

Duke laughed heartily, but the mother flushed perceptibly 
though her voice was quiet as she said : 

“Then I suppose, John, you think your father should have 
put you out!” 

“Undoubtedly!” said John earnestly. “The best thing he 
could have done for all of us was to cut us adrift* when we got 
to be twelve years old and let us learn to kick for ourselves.” 

“I am more grieved than I can say to hear you reflect upon 
your father so!” said the mother in a shocked voice. “I am 
sure no one ever had a more devoted or indulgent father than 
yours was, and you are the last person I should have expected 
to hear such expressions from.” 


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BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


“I am not reflecting on his devotion or his indulgence, but 
on his wisdom/’ said John. 

The mother failed to see the difference, and while John was 
laboring to make it clear to her, Alice went into the kitchen, 
and, when out of sight of the others, went through a kind of 
wild pantomime for Jean’s benefit. The only part of it that 
Jean could understand was a graphic allusion to the cow; this 
Alice made by lowering her head with a shake and then giving 
it a toss that would have made the cow ashamed of herself; 
then she described a wide circuit with her finger and shook her 
head. These last might mean so many things that Jean was 
puzzled. Dropping her hand to her side, she spelled out: 

“What do you mean?” 

Alice had’nt thought of that, but quick as a flash she tele- 
graphed back: 

“The cow — don’t let John take her!” 

“Of course not! Don’t suppose he has thought of such a 
thing.” 

“John — oh, no! But Mrs. Felicity! Haven’t you seen 
enough of her good management to know that she won’t let us 
keep the cow now that Sarah has gone?” 

These were worrying suggestions, but a few minutes later 
Jean was glad that Alice had made them; for after assuring the 
mother that Rene had no office and warning her earnestly 
against him, John rose to go, saying: 

. “I brought a boy along to drive the cow back, Mother; I 
suppose she is in the lot.” 

“We don’t want to give her up, brother John, and will buy 
her from you,” Jean answered promptly. 

John ran his hands through his hair and looked puzzled. 

“Very well,” he said at last. “I thought she was no use to 
you ; Sarah said you couldn’t milk.” 

“I’ve gotten a woman to do that, and she’s a wonderful help 
now. What do you ask for her?” 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


121 


“I think Felicia values her at twelve dollars.” 

“And what board do you pay for Sarah at school?” 

“That is twelve dollars, too.” 

“Well, as we were hard pressed all the time she was with 
us, I will only charge you six, which will be eighteen for the 
three months she was with us. Now, if six dollars will pay for 
the turnips and potatoes you sent us, I’ll take the cow and 
balance accounts with you.” 

“I don’t charge you anything for the turnips and potatoes, 
and I’ll pay you the six dollars as soon as my cotton is sold,” 
said John positively. 

“I expected to pay for them, and will be satisfied with the 
arrangement to get the cow,” Jean replied. 

“Jean is quite a woman of affairs,” John said to the mother 
and Alice. “She would have made a fine business man.” 

“No,” said the object of his compliment, with suspicious 
little quivers playing about the corners of her mouth, “I’m no 
business woman at all; I get the worst of every bargain.” 

But John didn’t perceive any “reference to allusions” as 
Alice said afterward; and the last thing he said upon leaving 
was: 

“I’m going to insist upon paying you that six dollars, Jean.” 

When Alice went into the kitchen a few minutes later, Jean 
was lying on the table crying. 

“Only think what twelve dollars a month would have done 
for us! And now there isn’t sugar and coffee enough to last 
mamma two weeks,” she sobbed. 

“I don’t like to be a Job’s comforter, but you’ll never see 
that six dollars,” Alice replied. And they never did. 

The day after Christmas, the two provident young house- 
keepers had put everything out of the Bruce basket that would 
keep, away for the mother; and had also set aside for New 
Year’s 'what was left of the turkey, only taking a slice off it 
every day for her dinner. With appetites whetted by these 


122 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


heroic though small self-denials, they were making merry over 
the preparation of dinner, New Year’s morning, when Kit 
lounged into the kitchen and asked casually: 

‘‘Are we going to have a nice dinner again to-day?” 

“Yes!” said Jean cheerily, “just as nice as the one we had 
Christmas.” Apparently satisfied, Kit went off, but came back 
in a little while to propound the farther query: 

“And is there going to be plenty of it?” 

“That minx is up to some mischief!” said Alice, making a 
critical study of the questioner’s back as she was going off the 
second time. 

“Oh! she’s just hungry and impatient like all children,” Jean 
replied. 

“You don’t know Kit like I do,” said Alice, with a shake of 
the head. “I’ve had to study her at close range, and I tell you 
she’s full of all guile.” 

The suspect came in again in a little while, and began to offer 
suggestions, but upon being accused by Alice, she beat a hasty 
retreat, and didn’t make her appearance any more. The cause 
of her anxiety developed, when on carrying the turkey in to 
the table, Alice found Pinky Jones, one of Jean's pupils, and 
her little brother, undergoing the painfully embarrassing pro- 
cess of being entertained by the mother. The culprit was be- 
yond reach for the time, so the table was hastily re-arranged to 
accommodate two more. When all were seated, Alice, in high 
spirits, began her little jokes about “Uncle Bruce,” as she 
called the turkey, whose “cold remains” were to do duty again. 

“Come, Mamma, what part of your legal adviser did you 
say? Jean, I know, will take nothing but the left breast — just 
over the heart. As for me, why I never get anything but the 
cold shoul — ” The words died on Alice’s lips as she paused 
with fork in air. Every one turned towards the door; for 
beyond it, in the old dining room, there was a sound as of the 
trampling of many feet. 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


123 


“The Philistines be upon us!” said Alice, and the next in- 
stant the door opened just far enough to admit the round, rosy 
face of Sissy Haney, the butcher’s daughter, another pupil. 

“Howdy, Miss Jean!” she said, smiling. 

“Howdy!” said Jean helplessly. Then, as Sissy continued to 
smile over the whole hemisphere of her face, Jean recovered 
sufficiently to say, rather limply: 

“Come in!” 

But instead of doing so, Sissy disappeared and there fol- 
lowed a full minute of suspense, during which strange sounds 
came from the other side of the door. Then an arm appeared 
around the door, pushing before it a smaller edition of Sissy in 
linsey dress, copper-toed shoes and check apron. 

“Duplicate,” said Alice. 

The duplicate advanced as far as the arm could reach, then 
the propeller being withdrawn, stood with downcast head and 
finger in mouth. A few seconds more and the arm appeared 
again propelling a duplicate of the duplicate. Alice gasped, 
but could utter no word. A third and fourth appearance of 
the arm brought to light two more duplicates of the duplicate 
of the duplicate; then Sissy herself appeared, and, pushing her 
train before her, came in with a perfect breeze of good humor. 
Jean and Alice, who had collapsed in their chairs, exchanged 
horrified glances, and both looked at Kit; but she had turned 
round in her chair and presented a most impenetrable back 
view to their threatening gaze. Realizing that the situation 
called for immediate action, Jean muttered something about 
the stove and left the table. Alice threw her hands to her 
temples, exclaiming: 

“Oh my head! Mamma, you will be obliged to excuse me!” 
and followed her example. 

“I reckon you all had quit looking for me,” said Sissy cheer- 
fully. “I’d a-been here long ago, but maw was going to see 
Aunt Mary, and I had to help her dress the other children.” 


124 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


“The other children !” said Alice in amazement. 

“Oh! these is only the two pair of twins; there’s four more 
besides,” said Sissy proudly. 

Alice stuck her head into the kitchen, where Jean was lean- 
ing against the wall with her arms clasped above her head, and 
said: 

“Don’t despair, dear; there’s always a bright spot some- 
where; there might have been four more!” 

Then, going back to where Kit sat, she said in her sweetest 
tones: 

“Get down, Katie, dear, and let me lay plates for your little 
guests !” 

“Oh, no! It’s Katie’s entertainment and I want her to enjoy 
it. I’ll give up my place instead,” interposed the mother; and 
then a table had to be moved up and her dinner placed on it 
before the other places could be arranged. 

“Katie didn’t tell us how many she had invited, or we 
wouldn’t be in such confusion,” the mother apologized to 
Sissy. 

It was all arranged at last, and the little Haneys chucked 
into their seats. The four duplicates refused to utter a sound, 
but with the original as director general, Jean and Alice went 
to work to prepare their plates. They had just gotten around 
and stopped tired and hungry, when duplicate number one 
dropped her spoon into her empty plate and raising her small 
blue eyes said commandingly: 

“More!” 

Then in regular succession each of the other duplicates 
dropped his or her spoon, raised his or her blue eyes, and 
uttered that awful : 

“More!” 

The two girls were kept constantly busy, while the dinner 
disappeared alarmingly. Kit’s spirits rose into a gale; she 
talked and laughed loudly, ordered Jean and Alice about, gave 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


125 


a history of each dish to her guests, and behaved uproariously. 
In retaliation, Alice filled her plate with bones and made faces 
at her when nobody was looking. The mother was delighted 
with Kit’s performance, laughed at her badness, and said she 
was so glad that Katie had inherited genuine Southern hos- 
pitality, which was getting so rare in these degenerate days. 
Every now and then, she would cast an appealing smile at 
Jean or Alice, as if asking for sympathy in her appreciation of 
her baby’s smartness, but her appeals met with only the most 
astonishing indifference. 

When every dish except the gravy boat was empty, Jean 
retired precipitately; in a few minutes Alice followed her, and 
said despairingly: 

“Haven’t you got something we can fill ’em up with? Just 
any thing, from cold potato peelings to scrap iron.” 

“I put on some grits a while ago for you and me, but it isn’t 
quite done yet.” 

“Oh! that doesn’t matter in the least,” said Alice, dishing it 
up hastily. 

When she returned to the dining room, the spoons had be- 
gun dropping again, and she hurriedly filled the plates with 
grits and gravy. She had scarcely gotten all the spoons to 
going again, however, when Kit gave a fresh evidence of her 
inherited talent for entertaining. 

“Stop!” she cried, standing up on a round of her chair and 
flourishing her fork aloft. “Hold on! Don’t eat too much 
grits and gravy ’cause there’s pie to come yet; and it’s such 
funny pie, too! It’s got raisins and meat both in it; but it’s real 
good, though, and there’s lots of ’em too!” 

Instantly every spoon and fork dropped and seven pairs of 
eyes looked up inquiringly for pie. 

“They’re going to get this one and no more; so stand firm,” 
Jean said to Alice, as she brought out the pie. 

It was cut so as to go around, but disappeared in a twinkling, 


126 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


and “More!” resounded from all parts of the table with be- 
wildering emphasis. 

“There isn’t any more!” said Alice sweetly, as she whisked 
the nearest duplicate to the floor. 

“Yes, there is more! Mamma, make them get more!” 
cried Kit stormily. But they were deaf to mamma’s gentle 
remonstrances, and in a little while had cleared the table of 
both guests and dishes, and retired to the kitchen to eke out a 
dismal dinner of grits and gravy. 

Feeling the effects of a good dinner, the twins began to 
show what was in them. They began by chasing each other 
around the table, each little shoe coming down with a thump 
which made things shake; they jumped off the chairs; then, as 
their ambition rose, they scrambled upon the table and leaped 
from that. Sissey began to scold, and the mother retired from 
the scene, and went to bed with a headache. Instead of quell- 
ing the frolic, Sissy’s threatening attitude only added zest to it 
for the duplicates ; in the exuberance of daring they overturned 
the doll house and finally upset Pinky Jones’ little brother, a 
solemn faced little fellow with bad health, and dragged him 
around by the heels. 

At last, in desperation, Jean assumed some of her school- 
room authority and bundled them off home on the ground that 
their mother would be uneasy if they staid late. She even 
assisted the wrathful Sissy to drag the struggling culprits to 
the gate, fearing that some of them might escape before it was 
securely closed behind them. 

The new departure was a wreck. Kit’s broken toys were 
strewn about; some of the plants were knocked down and the 
pots broken; one curtain had been pulled down by being taken 
for a swing; and a big patch of plastering just over the mother’s 
chair in the corner had fallen in the general hubbub. The 
place looked dismal in the light let in by the absence of the 
curtain and Jean went to get Alice to help repair damages. 


BROTHER JOHN AGAIN 


127 


She found her out in the back yard lecturing Kit, whom she 
had incarcerated in the long unused chicken coop. 

“Just look at her, Jean! The girl who brought that mob 
here to eat up our dinner! Are you going to do so any more, 
Miss?” 

“Yes, I am!” said Kit, who, although she had been subdued 
by the after-effects of her hospitality, was growing defiant 
under Alice’s discipline. “Mamma says I may whenever I get 
ready, ’cause Pinky and Sissy are just as hospital to me as they 
can be. Pinky divides her chewing gum with me all the time, 
and Sissy gives me a piece of her liver every day.” 

“Oh! and that’s why you brought them here to eat up your 
Uncle Bruce, the best friend you ever had, and the pie 1 — such 
funny pie, too! — with raisins and meat both in it! Now Pm 
going to leave you here, and if old raw-head-and-bloody-bones 
hasn’t got you by morning, Pm going to have you hauled 
around town in the coop with a board up telling people what 
you’ve done.” 


CHAPTER XII 


FORLORN HOPE 

'E railroad had come in the fall, arous- 
ing the little town from dreams of a 
happy past and bringing hopes of re- 
newed prosperity. 

To none was its coming of more 
eager interest than to the Conway girls. 
Shut in by the adamant walls of pov- 
erty, with ambition, pride, and the tra- 
ditions of former wealth as a constant 
goad to their spirits, with the energy of 
young blood in their veins and the high 
hopes of youth in their hearts, they 
were constantly watching for some 
windfall of good fortune — they didn’t 
know what — some rift in the cloud, re- 
vealing the silver on the other side. 

The road passed through the Conway land (the right of 
way alas! had been given away in more prosperous times) some 
little distance behind the house. Passing trains were visible 
from the upper story, and their whistles seldom failed to bring 
a wistful face to one of the windows. 

One bright afternoon soon after the holidays, Jean, Alice, 
Archie and Kit had strolled down to a pine covered knoll over- 
looking the tank- and pump-house. The ground under the 
great pines was so covered with the smooth brown spines that 
the grass beneath had been sheltered from the weather and was 

( 128 ) 



FORLORN HOPE 


129 


fresh and green. A fallen tree gave them a seat from which 
they could watch all that was passing without the appearance 
of vulgar gaping curiosity. From their vantage ground, the 
track was visible for several miles, running straight as a die 
through shadow of forest and sunshine of field, its bright 
steel rails luring the- eyes and thoughts on and on. Ah! those 
magic bands! upon them all the world seemed mounted on 
wheels and speeding on to success and happiness, while these 
two girls alone, with the spirits of birds, were left to pine in the 
lots of oysters. Oh! those alluring, tantalizing steel bands! 
Didn’t they lead out and out to the great world? Not indeed 
to the world of suffering and want, where right often goes to 
the wall, while wrong rides triumphant, where men and women 
struggle and suffer, hope and fear, aspire and despair, agonize 
and die — the world of reality. But to the world where hopes 
are always bright, where right is sure to win at last, where 
effort is always crowned with success, where merit never fails 
of recognition, “and all live happily ever after” — the world of 
Youthful Dreams. 

In a little while the evening train came flying down the 
track, the speed and rhythm of its smooth motion bringing a 
sparkle to the eyes and a faster beat to the hearts of the lookers 
on. Archie and Kit ran to the fence. 

“Oh! they’ll fall over and roll down on the track!” cried 
Alice; and they both ran after them, and each seized a leg as 
the youngsters reached the top rail. The train stopped at the 
tank. Some of the windows of the rear coach just opposite 
them were open, giving tantalizing glimpses of luxurious 
cushions, inlaid woods, and handsome mirrors within. 

The odor of the pines on the spring-like air brought several 
faces to the windows; and the view — the tender green of the 
grassy slope, the gray weather-beaten roof and upper story of 
the old house, visible through the sombre tops of the solemn 
old pine above, — held them there. 


330 


FORLORN HOPE 


“See that pretty girl in the brown dress, Papa!” said a fair, 
handsome girl with a decidedly Eastern accent, lowering her 
voice to an undertone. “I don’t know which is the handsomer, 
her eyes or her hair.” 

“I like the face of the other better; there is so much char- 
acter in her eyes and brow,” said the gray-headed man ad- 
dressed. 

“Both too thin and delicate to suit my taste,” said a stout 
man on the seat behind the speakers. “They say that is the 
defect of the beauty of Southern women. And another great 
fault is, they don’t know how to dress. Think of that girl there 
now, out for a stroll in the woods in a velvet dress!” 

“I hadn’t thought of that; they both look so pretty and an- 
imated, one might almost say eager,” said the first speaker, as 
the train moved on. 

“O Jean!” said the girl in the brown dress, when the world 
on wheels had passed them by, “did you see that aristocratic 
looking girl in there? Everything about her was so elegant, 
and I felt so dowdy in my shabby, fine old velvet! I just know 
she has everything that heart can wish, and travels every- 
where!” 

“Yes, and I dare say,” said Jean, with a sigh, “she has never 
in her life had to make even a single meal off of corn bread and 
bacon.” 

“Jean, why are we being brought so low? What have we 
done that God should punish us so?” Alice’s voice was a wail 
of pathos, and in her eyes was the awe of one who has come 
to face such questions for the first time. The older sister 
looked at her sadly. 

“I don’t know!” she said at last hopelessly. “I am sorry 
you have begun to ask these questions, too. Last summer 
when the life was being nearly roasted out of me before the 
kitchen fire and I was grieving myself nearly to death over 
not getting to go to college and the prospect of our starving, 


FORLORN HOPE 


131 


I couldn’t think of anything else; but the only thing I could 
be sure of was that I ought to ‘do my duty faithfully in that 
station of life unto which it had pleased God to call me; and 
I’ve been trying in a blind sort of way to do that, hoping that 
I would be able to understand after a while.” 

“Do you think mamma understands?” Alice asked. 

“No, I’m sure she doesn’t; for Christmas, in talking, she said 
something about ‘if God regarded — if He had not forgotten us 
altogether.’ It had never occurred to me that she didn’t under- 
stand and it nearly dazed me. Mammy Lily-Rose used to be 
satisfied, and she said — ” 

“Oh, I know!” said Alice impatiently, “she said that as God 
had made us, He did as He pleased with us, and we mustn’t 
ask the reason. But such as that will never satisfy me.” 

“Besides Mammy, Archie is the only person I know who 
can be satisfied and happy in such hard adversity as ours,” 
Jean said. 

Alice shook her head. 

“You needn’t tell me that an ignorant old darkie and an 
unthinking child like Archie can understand what a cultivated 
lady like mamma doesn’t.” 

“I have sometimes thought,” Jean continued, hoping that 
she might help Alice as she had done Archie, “that it is to try 
us, and that when we have shown that we are patient and un- 
selfish under discipline, we will be restored.” 

“But I want my life now — now while I am young and can 
enjoy it! Oh! what is youth for but to be happy in? Patience, 
unselfishness, discipline! They are for old age, when people 
are way up about thirty, and there’s nothing more to live for, 
and they begin to get ready to die!” Alice spoke passionately, 
and all the longing of her young heart looked out of her brown 
eyes. “Besides,” she continued, “there isn’t any truth in what 
you say ; for no one could be more patient and unselfish, more 
uncomplaining than poor mamma.” 


132 


FORLORN HOPE 


“I can understand,” said Jean, looking away, “why one 
would be denied money and leisure who would only spend 
them in self-indulgence and pleasure; but surely it isn’t wrong 
to cultivate the minds God has given us — to study all the 
grand things He has created and made us capable of under- 
standing! He must intend for us to do that! What nearly kills 
me is that I am wasting the time of life for study, which will 
never come again.” Jean’s gray eyes grew misty, and a pained 
expression contracted her firm mouth as she spoke. 

“The thing that hurts me most,” said Alice, “is that I am 
such a fraud, such an imposition on the community. It is just 
horrible to me to be out of joint with the rest of the world! 
I was born in a lady's place, and the world expects me to be 
one, but all the time I am humiliated by the knowledge that 
I am more nearly a beggar. I meet people with a smiling face 
and say funny things to make them laugh, and all the time I 
could cry my eyes out. I wouldn’t mind being poor if I were 
a big black nigger and could roll up my sleeves, shake my fist 
at the world and be open and honest in my poverty.” 

“I know the feeling,” said Jean; “but it affects me differ- 
ently. It is a source of unbounded comfort to me to know that 
I was bom a lady. I wouldn’t be anything else for the world, 
although appearances are against me. When I feel peoples’ 
glances like whips on my old clothes, I say to myself, ‘they 
shall see that there is a genuine lady beneath’. I am kept from 
saying many a mean, cutting thing by my shabby dresses.” 

“But I detest the idea of being one of the ‘has beens,’ like 
the Mitchell girls, who are always pitching their good family 
and their bad grammar at you through their bad teeth. You 
know how people are always saying of them, ‘Oh but they are 
of such a fine old family!’ I never look at one of them that I 
don’t see a crowd of spectral ancestors shining like a halo 
around her tumbled-down hair.” 

“Well, most of that is their fault; the vulgar boasting of 


FORLORN HOPE 


133 


family, the tumbled-down hair, and the bad grammar are, I 
know. The bad teeth may be a misfortune. If they are, I 
hope it is one that will never overtake us.” 

Alice shook her head dismally. 

“I know it will; for we are doomed. Don’t you notice how 
everything we hate worst does happen to us? I expect to have 
false teeth, a glass eye, and a cork leg before I die. Just think 
of going limping along and having people say, There goes 
that one-eyed Conway girl!” and Alice groaned. 

“Well,” said Jean, laughing in spite of herself, “I intend to 
struggle with all my might, so that if I go under in the end 
I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that it wasn’t my fault.” 

But Alice didn’t laugh. 

“Jean,” she said thoughtfully, “you had an opportunity 
once!” 

“Yes!” 

“And you threw it away!” 

“I gave it up for love of mamma, through sympathy for her 
loneliness. I didn’t think of duty then.” 

“But she has no idea of the tremendous sacrifice you made, 
and doesn’t appreciate it!” 

“I know all that, yet I wouldn’t take it back. It is the 
one happy thought I have, that I am shielding her from 
troubles and hardships which she couldn’t bear-up under.” 

“Don’t you believe that every one has a chance some time?” 
Alice asked. 

“Yes, I suppose they do!” Jean answered absently; for she 
was thinking of that beautiful June day which had been the 
end of things for her in so many ways. 

“Well, then, when my opportunity comes, I am going to 
seize it regardless of everything. I am going to crush out love 
and sympathy and duty and everything that stands in my way. 
Do you hear me, Jean? I am going to be mean — mean and 
selfish and cruel!” Alice spoke impetuously, vehemently; there 


134 


FORLORN HOPE 


was a hard sparkle in her eyes, and with nervous fingers she 
tore to pieces a harmless bunch of spines. Jean looked at her 
in surprise, and at last said: 

“No, you will not do that way, though you think so now. 
When the time comes, your better nature will prevail.” 

“But I don’t intend to let it. You don’t know me, Jean. I 
am determined upon one thing — solemnly determined — and 
that is that I will not waste my life in drudgery as you are 
doing.” 

“I hope,” said the elder sister, “that when your opportunity 
comes there will not be any clash between it and duty. Mine, 
I know, is gone — hopelessly gone beyond recall, and it does 
seem that the sacrifice of one in a family ought to be enough. 
If there is anything that I can do to help you to your oppor- 
tunity, you shall not miss it.” 

The hard spark died out of Alice’s eyes and a soft, humid 
little glow came in its stead, as she answered: 

“I can’t understand, Jean, why such an unselfish girl as you 
are should be kept down so. A mean one like me deserves it, 
but not you. It must be that God doesn’t regard us — that He 
has forgotten us altogether, as mamma says.” 

The rose of the sunset sky had crept up over the tops of the 
pines above them, and the wind was beginning to come briskly 
up the railroad track, and calling the children they went home 
to take up the monotonous round of the life whose purpose 
was such a mystery to them. 

The next day was Saturday, and as the two girls were dress- 
ing, Jean said: 

“Alice, I wish you would go and return some of mamma’s 
calls to-day; you know you are the society member of the 
family.” 

“You forget that I am a dislocated member, though,” Alice 
answered with a promptness which boded ill for Jean’s request. 

“But you’ve got good gloves, and your hat is in the style, 


FORLORN HOPE 


135 


while mine is frightfully behind the times. I thought of the 
visiting when I made your hat.” 

“I might have known you had ‘designs' when you made me 
a new hat without being asked. Next time you’d better con- 
sult me first.” 

“But it is ladylike and proper that they should be paid, and 
you look so nice in your suit — so much more respectable than 
I do.” 

“If making the calls were all, I wouldn’t so much mind; 
but the trouble is they will be paid back again, and you don’t 
know how dreary it is to sit in the cold and pretend to be cheer- 
ful and happy while all the time you are only laughing to keep 
people from hearing your teeth chatter. No, I won’t pay those 
visits, and if you have any consideration for me, you won’t 
either.” 

There was nothing to be gained by arguing with Alice, so 
that afternoon Jean donned the old fashioned hat, and went to 
pay the calls. In her walks from house to house, her mind 
was absorbed in her troubles, but once she had rung a door 
bell she could think of nothing but how to keep her shabby 
gloves out of sight without appearing to do so. After chatting 
pleasantly for fifteen minutes at one place, she rose to go, but 
instead of an adieu, bade her hostess a most cordial: 

“Why, howdy do!” 

Doubtless the astonished woman would not have entertained 
doubts of her sanity if she could have known of the approach- 
ing “corner” on sugar and coffee. On the whole, she didn’t 
add to the reputation she had made at Commencement, but 
she was performing a duty, and that to Jean was coming to take 
the place of happiness. 

Had she waited a week longer, she would not have been able 
to think of even the old gloves ; for by that time the old trouble 
was back in all its force. Archie was spending his afternoons 
trudging around in vain search of work, and Alice’s anxious 


136 


FORLORN HOPE 


face greeted her at the gate every afternoon. It was true that 
in ten days, she would have thirty dollars. Thirty whole dol- 
lars! It made them dizzy to think of such wealth! But those 
ten days yawned like a dark gulf between them and the daz- 
zling prize; for the coffee was positively on its last legs and 
without it the mother would be but a bundle of quivering, 
aching nerves. 

When the coffee would last but one day longer, Jean braced 
herself to do the only thing that remained — ask for credit. She 
and Archie had lately been spending their nickels with Mr. 
Haney, the butcher, who also kept some groceries. He had 
always been very pleasant, and had several times expressed his 
gratification at the progress Sissy was making in her studies. 
On her way home, Jean went into his shop and said in a voice 
she tried in vain to keep under control : 

“Mr. Haney, will you credit me for a dollar’s worth of goods 
till I get my salary at the end of the month?” 

The man’s face changed instantly. 

“I would you, if I did anybody, Miss Jean!” he said, apol- 
ogetically. “But you see it’s this way with me: I have to pay 
for my goods and I can’t credit them out. Besides, I’ve got a 
bill over there now against your ma for thirty dollars that’s 
been owing over a year and a half, and I’ve never got a cent 
on it. Of course, I don’t blame you for that,” he continued, 
as he saw the hot flush which swept over Jean’s face; “but you 
see how I’m fixed.” 

“I asked you to credit me— mot mamma ; but I shouldn’t have 
done that if I had known that you had suffered through our 
family,” Jean managed to say through the terrible lump in her 
throat, as she turned to go. 

“I hope you won’t feel no ways hard about it,” Mr. Haney 
continued, following her to the door. 

“Certainly not; I know it’s simply a matter of business,” 
Jean answered as best she could. 



“Mr. Haney , will you credit me for a dollar’s worth? 



FORLORN HOPE 


137 


“And — and — you won’t let it make no difference no' ways 
with Sissy at school? For my Sissy thinks such a power of 
you, Miss Jean, that — that I’d rather give you — if — if — ” Mr. 
Haney stammered and halted, and Jean was the self-possessed 
lady in an instant. 

“I assure you it will not make the least difference with Sissy, 
Mr. Haney. Even if I were so unreasonable as to have any ill- 
feeling toward you, which I am not, I couldn’t descend so low 
as to exhibit it toward a child. Rest assured of that.” Jean 
even smiled as she bade him good evening, but when she pulled 
her veil down and turned away, tears of mortification blotted 
out the pavement, and she almost ran over the fat little Dutch- 
man who kept shop next door. 

“Well, it does beat all,” Mr. Haney confided to his door- 
post as he stood jabbing his knife point into it, “how some 
folks lavishes when they has and then does without. Now, I’m 
plum sure my Sissy said they had turkey and mince pie when 
she was there a New Year’s.” 

At the gate Jean found Alice waiting with an excited face. 

“O Jean! come and see what a wonderful discovery I’ve 
made!” she cried, and catching Jean by the hand, she rushed 
her up the walk, through the house and into the kitchen, which 
looked as if a cyclone had struck it. On the table was an 
elaborate pyramid, made of all the tin and crockery ware the 
place afforded, and surrounded by a wreath of cedar. On top of 
the pyramid was a covered saucer, which Alice pointed out 
. with a gesture of triumph, saying: 

“Don’t say too much! Spare my blushes!” 

Jean climbed up and lifting the cover saw a messy looking 
little pat of butter. 

“Where on earth did you get it?” she asked in astonishment. 

“Made it!” said Alice, smiling and nodding though her eyes 
were full of tears. 


138 


FORLORN HOPE 


“Thank God! After all I believe He does regard us!” 
Jean said earnestly. 

“You see,” Alice went on eagerly, “when I went to call 
Joanna to milk the other morning, she had just churned a nice 
saucer of butter, and that gave me the idea. I got that glass 
fruit jar and shook it instead of churning. I had no idea it 
would be such a job and make such a mess. I hope you don't 
mind the kitchen, dear!” she continued, with a hurried glance 
at the ruin she had wrought. “I intended to try to clean up, 
but I’ve shaken till I fear I’m not quite right in my mind; or 
maybe it’s my liver that has got turned over; but I do feel so 
queer.” 

Jean said she didn’t mind about the kitchen, and then told 
of her experience with Mr. Haney. 

“The wretch!” cried Alice hotly. “And didn’t you tell him 
about his tribe coming here and eating up all our dinner?” 

“O Alice! what are you talking about? Of course not!” 

“But you should have done it. I don’t know but that I’ll 
send him a bill for that dinner yet! There was the pie that 
had never been touched, and a lot of grits and things, not to 
mention the turkey that was as good as new as far as it went. 
I’ll tell you, Jean, yours and mamma’s high toned feelings 
will be the ruin of us yet. I ought to be at the head of this 
family.” 

“Maybe you are right about that last. Any way I begin to 
think that it’s a great misfortune that mamma and I were — 
‘were bom so’.” 

“It’s the crowning misfortune of our lot that we were not 
born darkies, Chinese, Hottentots — anything but people with 
self-respect and refined feelings.” 

That night Alice couldn’t sleep for the soreness in her arms 
and shoulders, but next morning she began to skim cream into 
her jar again, preparatory to another shake up. 

Greatly as the butter helped the situation, it didn’t relieve 


FORLORN HOPE 


139 ' 


the strain in the coffee market, and when Jean left home next 
morning, she knew that the last grain was gone, and that the 
only way to get more was to ask for credit again. From that 
she shrank as from beggary itself; indeed, because it was the 
last resort, she felt as if it were a species of swindling. Oh 
that awful monster called money! How little consequence 
people seemed to attach to it when she had plenty, but what 
prison walls its lack left her in! How people hardened their 
faces and hearts towards her when she confessed her lack of 
money! Jean could think of little else that day, and after a 
while two new ideas dawned upon her; she must go where 
there was no possibility of running upon another old debt, 
and she must put on a different face — must appear to be con- 
ferring a favor instead of asking one. 

A young Irishman had opened a little store on her route to 
school soon after she began teaching, and his bright, smiling 
face had become so familiar that she had been speaking to 
him in passing. On her way home, she entered his store, feel- 
ing as if she were about to victimize him. After an exchange 
of greetings, she said, speaking very fast, as if that would lend 
inconsequence to the request couched in the middle of her 
speech: 

“I’ll take a couple of pounds of coffee and a pound of sugar 
this evening; that is, if you’ll credit me till the end of the 
month. I am Miss Conway, the public-school teacher.” 

“Certainly, Miss. I’ve been knowing who you was a long- 
time and wishing for part of your trade. Green or roasted 
coffee, did you say?” Then, in his rich Irish brogue, he com- 
mented on the weather while weighing and tying up the pack- 
ages. Jean watched him nervously, scarcely hearing what he 
said. 

“Anything else, Miss?” he asked, passing the packages over 
the counter to her almost feverish grasp. 

“What?” she exclaimed, drawing back. “Oh no! thank 


uo 


FORLORN HOPE 


you!” she added hastily, as she recovered herself and drew the 
bundles under her cloak. 

“Pleased to have you call again, Miss/’ said the smiling 
young man, as she went out hugging those precious packages 
close and secretly promising him the greater part of that won- 
derful thirty dollars. 

In her trepidation, she had forgotten to ask about the all 
important matter of brand, and next day the mother com- 
plained in her gentle, unresentful way of the poor coffee. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 



^ | I HE spring was kind to Conway; its 

leaves and grasses hid many of the 
painful ravages of time and neglect; 
amid the leafy coolness of its 
surrounding trees, the old 
house lost much of its forlorn- 
ness, and looked once more 
the stately mansion; its wide 
halls and spacious rooms 
threw off their chilly gloom 
and became cool, darkened 
retreats from the heat and 
glare. The doors stood cheer- 
ily open, the windows were 
kept up, and through their 
slightly parted blinds, gentle 
breezes wafted faint odors of 
rose and honeysuckle from a 
few vines that still struggled for existence, though, like the 
family, they, too, had fallen from their high estate. 

The garden, which by the disappearance of its fences had be- 
come a part of the surrounding orchards, Jean rented to one of 
the old servants; and its fresh, upturned earth and flourishing 
young vegetables offered a cheering view from the windows. 

The inmates too participated in the general resuscitation of 
nature; for when the old house, which during the winter had 


( 141 ) 


142 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


been like a great chilly tomb of the Past, was made again 
habitable by the bright, warm weather, they began to sing and 
skip about its great porches and take fresh hold on hope. 

There was another way in which the warm season was kind 
to them too; it enabled them to eke out Jean’s small salary to 
better advantage. It was a great saving when Archie and Kit 
could go barefooted; and the cheap muslins and lawns looked 
just as nice as the higher priced ones, especially when Alice 
selected and made them. Alice began to develop bright ideas, 
which the other girls tried in vain to imitate, because — well, 
just because they were not Alice. 

When Easter came, as it did in the glory of spring blossom- 
ing, Alice lent her taste and her deft fingers to the work of 
decorating the altar; because Jean was to be one of the con- 
firmation class. The mother cut and sent her few pet blooms 
from the window pots for the same reason; yet, when the 
morning came which meant so much to her, Jean found her- 
self alone except for Kit and Archie trotting along by her 
side. At the church door, she was strongly tempted to turn 
back; never did people’s glances feel more like whips than as 
she went up the aisle in her last year’s dress and her twenty- 
five cent hat, with its few puffs of mull. From her seat in the 
choir the congregation presented a gorgeous appearance; the 
place was abloom with flowers, natural and artificial; and 
everywhere amid the fresh bright costumes was the sunshine of 
smiles and happiness. 

Mrs. Matthews’ pew was a center of attraction. Annie was 
lovely in a confirmation dress of white silk, but she was not the 
object of general attention; for beside her sat Louis, handsome, 
manly, and elegant as the most stylish of city tailors could 
make him. His mother and sister had talked of him constantly 
lately — of his success (he had received promotion after pro- 
motion and was soon to be taken into partnership by his 
house), his opinions, and his doings in society. As he had not 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


143 


been home before, his appearance created quite a flutter, and 
he was the recipient of many gracious smiles, which he re- 
turned with the air of one receiving his just dues. 

As Jean felt the shabbiness of her appearance in every fibre 
of her sensitive nature, her old heart cry went up again. 

“Why hast Thou dealt thus with me? Why am I singled out 
for poverty and humiliation? What does it all mean?” 

But the cry had lost its vehemence and was more a prayer 
for light than the struggling of a rebellious heart; and all un- 
expectedly as our Father’s blessings usually come, the answer 
came that morning, sent as Jean believed directly to her, 
though many another of the listeners appropriated it with equal 
certainty. 

The dear old Bishop, with saintly face and tender voice, that 
often quivered with tears, was himself a man of sorrows, ac- 
quainted with grief, and his sermons always found the wounds 
in the hearts of his hearers, and poured in the oil and wine of 
healing. His theme for that bright morning of glad thanks- 
giving was the superior blessedness of giving, and he quoted 
the text, 

“It is more blessed to give than to receive.” 

His opening paragraph on the joys of gratitude to our fellow 
men for material aid, sympathy, and love, caught Jean’s atten- 
tion ; for she had known the heart-glow of gratitude. She lis- 
tened with deepening interest as the old man depicted in lan- 
guage that welled up from the heart, simple and touching, the 
beatitude of the soul filled with gratitude to God for all the 
blessings of life — from the flowers that bloom* along the way- 
side to that crown of joys, the deep, holy hush that comes to 
the soul when God says to its tempest of passions: “Peace, be 
still!” 

But as blessed as was the receiver, the speaker said, there 
was still a “better part,” a beatitude whose joy outshone the 
joy of the recipient as the glory of the sun outshone its own 


144 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


reflection in the bosom of the mountain lake. It was this 
better part of the giver that God had chosen for His own. 
The joy ineffable of the great All Giver, it is not in the heart of 
man to conceive; for it is the difference between the Creator 
and the creature. It was that which made creation desirable 
to the great heart of God, which affords satisfaction for the 
soul travail of the Son of God. 

But in His boundless beneficence, the Father had not kept 
this better part of Himself. He had made it possible for His 
children to share in it by being themselves the benefactors of 
their fellow-men — by giving of themselves, their substance, 
lov€, and sympathy. "Blessed privilege! by which he who 
blesses most is himself most blessed, by which he who loses 
his life saves it, by which we come so close to the Father that 
in the end we shall be like Him even in the unspeakable joys 
that are His. 

As the aged bishop depicted in touching words the beauty 
and sublimity of a life devoted to the good of others, to Jean it 
seemed that a new sun arose in the sky, flooding all the dark 
places of her life. By its light, she read the answer to all her 
questionings, understood the meaning of her disappointed 
hopes and broken ambitions: it was that she should be torn 
from these lesser things and be made partaker in the “better 
part.” it was all so plain and clear to her now that she won- 
dered that she had ever misunderstood. When at last she laid 
aside her hat and knelt to receive the Bishop’s confirming 
blessing, it was with a heart which said “Even so, Father” to 
all God’s dealings with her. 

But to Louis and Annie, the sermon was one of unmeaning 
platitudes. Humored in everything and successful in all they 
had undertaken, they felt no need of a better part than the 
world afforded, or of light on the great problem of life. Annie 
indeed, tried to listen because it was her confirmation sermon, 
but Louis spent his time comparing the girls with those he had 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


145 


been accustomed to seeing in a fashionable city church. Dur- 
ing the closing services, while Jean sang as she had never done 
before, her sweet alto ringing out with a glad triumph that 
made many turn and look at her, Louis was thinking out a 
great philanthropic scheme for her benefit. Inasmuch as he 
had shown a decided preference for her in his schoolboy days, 
it was but natural that she should expect a renewal of his atten- 
tions, he reasoned ; and it would be best for him to let her un- 
derstand that she need have no — er — expectations in his direc- 
tions. He didn’t wish to cause her any needless pain, so he had 
better make the matter clear to her at once. Exactly how he 
should do it, he hadn’t thought out when Jean came down the 
aisle and paused among the throng who were waiting to speak 
to him. Old General Burkhead was standing in the pew in 
front of the Matthews, holding Louis by the shoulder and de- 
livering himself of a harangue on Success. When free, Louis 
turned and began shaking hands, but strangely failing to see 
Jean, who lingered only a moment then passed on with another 
little sting in her sensitive soul. 

At dinner that day Alice said: 

“I wish now I had worn that horrid hat and gone to church 
to-day, for Archie says Louis Matthews was there looking 
perfectly splendid.” 

“It wouldn’t have done you any good. I can tell you Louis 
is a peg above poor white folks like you now. Kit says he cut 
Jean dead,” laughed Duke tauntingly. The mother flushed 
as she asked: 

“Is that true, Jean?” 

“I don’t know that it was intentional, though at the time I 
thought it was. But don’t let it disturb you, Mamma; it’s a 
very small matter,” said Jean cheerfully. 

“I ought not to let it disturb me except to the extent of 
making me sorry that Louis has no more good sense. I re- 
member the time well when it was only your father’s kindness 


14G THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 

that saved Mr. Matthews from bankruptcy. But people forget 
such things these days.” 

It was at dinner, too, that Louis said : 

“I’m afraid I hurt Jean Conway’s feelings to-day. She 
stopped to speak to me, but old Burkhead held on to me so 
long that when I got loose she was gone.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” exclaimed his mother and Annie to- 
gether, and the latter added: “They have gotten to be so poor! 
And the girls are just as sensitive as can be! Maybe she didn’t 
stop.” 

“I’m sure she did; for I smelled the violets she wore at her 
throat for several seconds.” 

“I wouldn’t have had it happen for a great deal,” said Mrs. 
Matthews, “for your father was always a good friend of Gov. 
Conway’s. It was really his influence that got him the nomina- 
tion for governor, though of course they don’t know it. Be- 
sides, Jean is a most deserving girl, just the stay of the family. 
I really don’t know how they would get along if it were not 
that she teaches the poor school.” 

“You mean the public school,” corrected Annie. 

“Oh, well! it amounts to the same. Don’t I remember when 
we girls used to teach it week about for charity? But really, 
Louis, you must take the first opportunity to make amends to 
Jean; for a girl of her family and her deserts mustn’t be put 
down even if she is poor.” 

A few days after Easter, the Conways were thoroughly 
shaken up by the arrival of a heavily bordered letter from 
Elise, telling them that her husband had died abroad two 
months after their marriage, and making the farther announce- 
ment (and it was that announcement which did the shaking up) 
that she would come on a visit to them in a few weeks. The 
mother took the letter to her room to cry over that part where 
Elise spoke so touchingly of her “dear dead boy,” and as soon 
as she was out of sight, Alice cried frantically: 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


H7 


“Oh, what shall we do?” 

“Do? There’s nothing we can do except endure as best we 
may.” 

“But it will be such a mortification!” said Alice, almost 
ready to cry. 

“That will be bad enough for us; but it will be worse for 
Elise not to have anything she can eat. She isn’t used to hard- 
ships and it will go mighty hard with her. There is only one 
consolation, and that is she’ll have the great American privilege 
of leaving when she can’t stand it any longer.” 

“I’ll tell you, Jean, we’ll just have to quit spending a cent, 
and save all your salary from now on.” 

“That wouldn’t do the least good; unless we could manage 
to keep her in bed as we do mamma. And besides, we don’t 
know how long she’s going to stay.” 

Jean spoke dismally and the troubled look which that first 
thirty dollars of salary had banished, came back to her eyes. 

“I might manage to keep her in bed by crippling her, break- 
ing a limb or something, if it wasn’t for the risk of breaking 
her neck, too,” said Alice speculatively. Jean smiled in spite 
of herself. 

“Isn’t it a shame that we should talk so of dear old Elise 
when once the prospect of a visit from her gave us such eager 
delight? And yet people say that poverty isn’t necessarily 
blunting to one’s better feelings.” 

“It isn’t that I love her less; it was only an impulse of 
mercy,” Alice continued whimsically. “I think on the whole 
I’ll take the risk and break one of her limbs; for even in the 
event that our worst fears are realized, as the doctors say, it will 
be so much more pleasant to think of her being taken off that 
way; for they do say that starving is a real hard — ” 

“Oh, Alice! how can you make fun?” said Jean, with real 
tears in her eyes. 

“How can I? Why, to keep you alive, you goose! What 


148 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


have you and I lived on for the last year, but fun and hope? 
Give me fun, or give me death !” 

“After all the poor girl may be too distressed to notice or 
care for things like she used to!” 

“That is the only solid comfort I can get out of the whole 
affair. If she were going to have the house full of company all 
the time, so that we would have to sneak around like criminals 
to do the work, as we did last summer, I just couldn't stand it, 
and I wouldn’t,” said Alice decidedly. 

But somebody else was thinking of these difficulties too, as 
the girls learned a little later. 

One afternoon, Jean sat in her room enjoying her freedom 
and a book which Robert had sent her. He had sent several 
lately, not novels, but books of deep thought, to read some of 
which was almost an education in itself. Jean had begun to 
take heart again as she realized that culture was not altogether 
a matter of text-books and schoolrooms, but in its broader, 
deeper sense was still possible to her. At the closing exercises 
of the public school her pupils had done her great credit, and 
the board were so well pleased that they had raised her salary 
for the next year and promised her a better room. This was 
cheering as far as it went, but there still remained the un- 
bridged chasm of the idle summer months, over which Elise’s 
proposed descent hung like the shadow of some ravenous bird. 
Archie had been looking for work ever since school closed, 
but had found none so far. There was nothing she could do 
except that hardest of all things — wait. This afternoon the 
mother had surprised them by going out for a drive with Mrs. 
Matthews, and things were more" quiet than usual. After a 
while Alice came in and dropped upon the bed exclaiming: 

“This is horrible!” 

“What is it?” Jean asked, without looking up. 

“Pickles!” said Alice, with a groan. 

“Pickles?” echoed Jean, all attention in an instant. 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


149 


“Yes, pickles and strawberry preserves,” and Alice buried 
her face in a pillow. Jean was by her side at once. 

“Why, darling, where did you eat them?” she asked, bend- 
ing over Alice’s prostrate form anxiously. 

Alice sat up indignantly. 

“I haven’t eaten them at all, Miss! They are downstairs on 
the dining room table,” she said, with flashing eyes. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Jean, starting for the door. Alice followed 
her. 

“It’s some horrible mistake, dear. I told the man so, but he 
insisted that it wasn’t, and just would leave them in spite of 
me. 

When Jean entered the dining room, she was met by a 
sight she had not seen in many a weary month — a table full of 
bulging, brown paper-bags whose suggestiveness thrilled her. 

“How on earth did this happen?” she exclaimed as she 
began to examine the directions on them. “This is mamma’s 
name as plain as it can be written.” Two sets of swift fingers 
and two pairs of eager eyes were examining as she spoke. 
There were crackers, snowy cubes of sugar, the richest of 
cream cheese, canned fruits, whose labels looked more beauti- 
ful than the finest oil paintings, potted meats, on whose wrap- 
pers his satanic majesty shone like an angel of light, and last, 
but not lea^t, the jars of preserves and pickles which had come 
so near being too much for Alice. 

“These can’t be mamma’s, because there isn’t any tea or 
coffee, lard or flour — none of the substantiate. Besides, who- 
ever bought these has more money than they know what to 
do with,” said Jean, turning away more hungry than she had 
ever been in her life. 

“Jean,” said Alice, with tears in her eyes, “if stealing wasn’t 
so mean, so low down, and contemptible, I’d eat those pickles.” 

“I wish I could give them to you, but I dare not spend a 


150 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


cent for fear mamma may have to go without tea and coffee 
before vacation is over. ,, 

“I know! and I wouldn’t take a mouthful from poor mamma 
if I were famishing.” 

They locked the dining room doors and went out on the 
porch to speculate and watch for the delivery-man to return for 
his packages. Twilight came and the mother, but no delivery 
man. The girls went out to the gate as the rockaway drove up. 

“Here, Alice, take your mother’s bundles!” said Mrs. 
Matthews, as Jean assisted the mother out. Mute with sur- 
prise, Alice allowed her arms to be filled, and then Jean’s were 
called into service, and the two girls silently followed their 
mother to the house. 

“Have my groceries come?” she asked, as they entered. 

“There are some in the dining room; are they yours?” Alice 
replied. 

“Yes,” the mother answered in rather an agitated voice, as 
she went into her room. 

“How did you get them?” Alice continued, as she and Jean 
followed. 

“That is my business,” said mamma, shortly. 

“Mamma, have you mortgaged Conway?” Jean asked as she 
dropped helplessly into a chair. It was too dark for Alice and 
herself to see each other’s face, but each could hear the rapid 
beating of the other’s heart, as they waited for the reply. 

“If you will know, yes!” she said at last. There were two 
sharp cries and the bundles tumbled all about as Alice threw 
herself on the bed and Jean slipped to the floor and buried her 
face in the chair cushions. 

“Hush!” said the mother sharply, “hush! My children -shall 
have food and clothes like other peoples!” 

“And sacrifice . the shelter over our heads to get them.” 
sobbed Jean. 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


151 


“When Jean and I have toiled and slaved ourselves nearly 
to death to keep it free! O, mamma! mamma!” 

“Well, Jean can pay it off in the fall, I’m sure, with the in- 
crease in salary that she is going to get,” said the mother, 
anxious to temporize and striking, as she thought, upon a 
happy expedient. 

“I couldn’t do it in a thousand years at this rate of spending, 
and my poor rate of earning,” Jean answered, in the tone of 
one completely driven to bay. “Besides you ought not to have 
gone into debt on that expectation without consulting me; I’d 
rather die than be in debt.” 

“Then don’t meddle with my business, presumptuous chil- 
dren that you are!” The mother spoke more angrily than they 
had ever heard her and left the room. 

There was no supper cooked that night. Some tea was made 
for the mother and she and the younger children made a feast 
off the evening’s purchases; Jean tried to eat, but couldn’t. 
Alice didn’t go to the table, but crept off to her room and laid 
down in the dark. When supper was over, Jean carried her a 
plate, conspicuous on which was some of the coveted pickle. 

“Here, dear, get up and eat. We’d as well make the best of 
it and enjoy it while it is going; it can’t be helped now.” But 
Alice turned off saying: 

“Take it away, please, Jean; the very thought of it makes me 
sick.” 

When the lamp was lighted, they found a couple of silk 
dress patterns laid on the bed. They examined them with only 
a vague sort of impersonal interest, laid them away and pro- 
ceeded to hold a council of war, or it might have been a court 
martial judging from the solemnity and sadness pervading it. 
That there was no retreat from the step the mother had taken 
seemed certain and that she was going to spend at a ruinous 
rate was evident from the beginning she had made; but they 
believed they had a way of checking her. This was the first 


152 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


trip she had taken to town in over a year and as she would 
probably not go again soon, they would do the buying and 
could retrench in many ways without her knowing it. That it 
would finally end in the loss of the dear old rookery, and that 
all their little schemes and devices would only postpone the 
evil day, they didn’t conceal from themselves. 

When the packages were opened next morning, it was found 
that besides the silks for Jean and Alice the mother had bought 
a handsome dress for herself, a suit for Duke, and some fine 
table linen; but there wasn’t a yard of muslin or sheeting, or a 
pair of shoes for one of the family. After breakfast Jean 
donned her hat and went to return the silks and order the 
staples which had escaped the mother’s memory. Mrs. Con- 
way had not thought of such a thing as getting a pass book; 
indeed she hadn’t even a bill of her purchases, and had forgot- 
ten the price of some of the articles, if she had ever asked it. 
It was part of the girl’s retrenchment plan to get the book, 
keep it thoroughly posted and keep an account of the amount 
spent each month. When Jean had finished her errand and 
was waiting for the book to be written up, Mrs. Cross, the 
dressmaker, who had been shopping at another counter ap- 
proached her and said: 

‘'Miss Jean, I wish you’d see if your ma can’t pay that bill 
of mine now. I’ve waited nearly two years, and you know it is 
daily work for daily bread with me.” 

The little woman spoke imploringly and so low that none of 
the bystanders could hear her; yet Jean flushed painfully as she 
replied : 

“Mamma hasn’t any money, Mrs. Cross, but — ” 

“An order here will do just as well!” Mrs. Cross put in 
hastily. 

“I was going to say she could give you an order on Mr. 
Beard, if that would do.” 


THE MOTHER TAKES COMMAND 


153 


“PH be so much obliged, and it will help me out so!” said 
the little dressmaker gratefully. 

“I’m sorry you’ve had to wait, but our plantation was over- 
flowed a year ago, and we’ve had no income from it since.” 

“Yes, I heard about it and was sorry for your ma. That was 
nearly as bad as not having any plantation,” said Mrs. Cross as 
she left. 

“It’s a great deal worse,” thought Jean, with an internal 
groan; “for people who don’t have them don’t go into debt. 
Shall I ever quit stumbling upon these old debts?” 

Then she thought of Mr. Haney; he ought to be paid as well 
as Mrs. Cross. If the home was to go for what they were con- 
suming, it was but just and right that what they had con- 
sumed should be paid for too. There seemed to be nothing 
but ruin ahead of them in spite of her desperate struggles, and 
she turned her face homeward with a big lump of despair in 
the place where people’s hearts are supposed to be. 

When told of Mrs. Cross’ request the mother said fretfully: 

“I think it is very unkind of her to worry me about that old 
bill. She knows I haven’t any money.” 

“Yes, Mamma, but as she says, it is daily work for daily 
bread. Think what a hardship it would be if I had to wait for 
my salary.” 

“Heaven knows I wish I had some way of earning my daily 
bread! I’m sure I would rather do it than worry other people!” 
said the mother; but she wrote the order for Mrs. Cross, and 
one for Mr. Haney, and Jean astonished the latter by carrying 
it around to him that afternoon. 


CHAPTER XIV 


iJ£Mm 
m ■ ■ 

,'v -v 

s$m v 



WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 

ID you ever see anybody so 
changed? Poor Elise! I can 
scarcely believe she’s the same 
' girl,” said Jean, as she sat 
/ down girl fashion on the floor 
to pull off her shoes, and stock- 
ings. It was the evening of 
Elise’s arrival; they had chat- 
ted till nearly midnight, and 
had just come to their room. 
“Pshaw!” said Alice, facing 
about and peeping out through her 
hair which she was brushing vigor- 
ously, “I wouldn’t be as gullible as 
you are for anything, J,ean.” 

“And I wouldn’t be as suspectful as 
you for a good deal,” Jean retorted. 
“But I’m right!” said Alice, coming 
out of her maze of threaded gold considerably warmed by the 
brushing and the discussion. “I tell you we would be whirling 
away in society in less than a week if it were not for the pro- 
prieties.” 

“How can you talk so heartlessly?” said Jean reproachfully. 
Alice glanced at the door leading into Elise’s room, and com- 
ing closer whispered laughingly: 

“Didn’t you see her wink at me when mamma was condoling 
with her so beautifully?” 


( 154 ) 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


153 


Jean looked shocked, but said nothing, and Alice continued 
solemnly: It’s no end of a blessing that society fences a fresh 
widow around so; we’d have just such a horrible time as we 
did last summer, and it would kill me.” 

But, sharp as Alice prided herself upon being, she had still 
some things to learn about “fresh” widows. The afternoon 
after her arrival, Elise went over to greet Mrs. Matthews and 
Annie, and staid so late that Louis had to escort her home. 
Although he hadn’t been to see his old friends, he didn’t go in, 
but sat and chatted with Elise on the moonlighted porch. 
Next evening, two or three friends called, Louis among them; 
and then somehow it happened that there was company in the 
drawing room every night, and as the days passed it in- 
creased in numbers and gaiety. Elise behaved with great cir- 
cumspection; she didn’t mingle with the jolly crowd, but would 
sit with Louis or some other old friend in the shadows on the 
porch and converse in low tones till the young people would 
go out and just make her come in and play for them. Her 
widow’s weeds were exceedingly becoming and the gentle 
gravity of her manner added another charm to her beauty. No 
wonder Louis didn’t try to talk to any of the girls and always 
looked bored when Elise talked to any one else. 

While all this “whirling” was going on in the drawing room 
and on the porches, the work in the kitchen was getting de- 
cidedly “cranksided.” The girls didn’t wake Elise to breakfast 
the first morning after her long journey, and after that she 
didn’t get up when they did wake her, but would come down 
with laughing apologies an hour or two after the family had 
eaten, and Jean would have to cook a fresh breakfast for her. 
When things had gone on this way for nearly a week, Alice 
suggested that, as they were all up late, they should all break- 
fast when Elise did. This worked like a charm for two days, 
and then the mother, who couldn’t sleep late, waked Jean to 
make her a cup of coffee, and so the double breakfasts began 


156 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


again. It was hard, too, to get Alice and Elise to their suppers; 
for there was always some visitor lingering about the porch or 
steps; this kept the supper waiting, and made Jean late in get- 
ting through. Then Alice, whose duty it was to wash the sup- 
per dishes, got so impatient to get back into the fun that she 
took to scraping the dishes and leaving till morning, though 
she never got up in time to attend to them. At first Elise had 
declared that the girls shouldn’t tidy her room, she was going 
to do it herself, she said; they had so much to do she just 
wouldn’t think of letting them wait on her. But after she had 
forgotten it three days in succession, Jean took to doing it after 
she had gotten through with dinner. All this, with the con- 
fusion and worry, made the work very wearing, especially as 
the wea/ther was dreadfully hot; but Elise was so entertaining, 
and the return to social life so delightful after their long se- 
clusion, that when Jean ventured a mild complaint, Alice and 
the mother thought her cross, and reproached her for being so 
ungracious and inhospitable. 

It had been a great relief to both the girls, when on first 
learning of their situation, Elise had told them that she wasn’t 
a bit hard to please in her diet. They must give her just what 
they would have for themselves; indeed, she would feel like 
going away if they put themselves to any trouble or expense 
on her account, she said. But when she would say, “Did you 
ever try any of those delightful Saratoga chips, Lina?” or 
“How refreshing grapes are for breakfast!” the mother would 
promptly send for the article suggested. On one occasion Jean 
and Alice were startled by being sent for from the parlor to 
serve ice cream. In great trepidation, they found on counting 
noses that there were not enough saucers to go around, and 
fruit or ice dishes there had not been one in the house for years. 
But the mother was equal to the occasion, and calling Duke 
out, she sent him down to wake Mr. Beard’s head clerk, escort 
him to the store and bring back the dishes. It is true this pro- 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


157 


longed the evening to the verge of dissipation, but the mother 
had the satisfaction of having the cream served properly. 

Once Elise remarked that it would make such an improve- 
ment in the yard to clean it off, hang some hammocks, and put 
up a croquet set; and the next morning two men were set to 
work to carry out the suggestion. So the expenditures grew 
amazingly, while Jean and Alice moaned helplessly over them 
in secret. It was astonishing, too, the number of old creditors 
who presented themselves; Jean wondered if Mr. Beard didn’t 
look them up and send them around. They came at most in- 
opportune times, and when the mother refused to pay them, as 
she generally did at first, they selected still more embarrassing 
times to call. 

The “whirling’’ though of a mild type soon began to be fast 
and furious. There were entertainments of some kind almost 
every day; nobody seemed to know who suggested them, but 
they were all of such a nature that a “fresh” widow might, by 
straining a point, take a modest part in them. Mr. Beard 
added greatly to the gaiety by introducing some young men 
who came to- town as commercial travelers. Mrs. Matthews 
and Annie and some others didn’t much like this at first and 
were disposed to keep aloof from the new comers, but as the 
latter proved to be lively additions and particularly as Louis 
said they were “all right,” they soon came to receive them 
cordially. Callie became one of the inner circle at Conway 
and she and Alice were practically out as young ladies. 

One day at a tournament which had been hastily gotten 
up to answer the demand for something new in the way of 
entertainments, Alice who was several seats away from Jean 
leaned over and in a voice choking with indignation said: 

“I just wish you would look at Duke!” 

Jean looked in the direction indicated and beheld the 
chronic offender decked out in the nattiest of new suits, with 
shoes, hat, tie, and even cane, all with the newest of shines 


158 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


on them. He was having a gay time with Lottie and tipped 
his hat and smiled at them provokingly. When the affair was 
over and the two girls had gotten out of the crowd, Alice said 
angrily : 

“It was Duke who had Conway mortgaged, Jean. We’ve 
been blaming Mrs. Matthews with it, but it was nobody in 
the world but that wicked boy.” 

“Yes, I wonder we didn’t think of it before. What can 
mamma be thinking of to let him spend money like that?’* 
Jean replied dolefully. 

“It isn’t any use to struggle any longer; we are beaten and 
I for one give it up/’ said Alice despairingly. 

“Oh, don’t desert me! How can I ever stand up under 
all this load alone?” said Jean piteously. 

“But it is no use! You see how mamma is just throwing 
money away. We are bound to be homeless wanderers. You 
and I can’t help it, and now I’m going in to get my share while 
it is going!” And though Jean argued and plead, Alice clung 
to her resolution, and bright and early next morning went to 
town to get herself two new dresses. Following a suggestion 
from Elise that there was no economy in buying cheap goods 
she got two embroidered white robes in boxes which cost as 
much as the silk she had refused. 

As soon as the first dress was done Alice startled the house- 
hold by announcing that she was going to give a tea party. 
To Jean’s remonstrance she replied coldly: 

“You needn’t object, Jean; it won’t do any good. The house 
is going anyway; besides we’ve received so much hospitality 
this summer that we must make some return and it can’t be 
done in any cheaper way. Then, too, we owe it to Elise to 
make some acknowledgement of the attentions that are being 
just showered on her.” 

“Oh, if it is hospitality that has struck you I won’t say any- 
thing; for I know how fatal it is to the family. But I wouldn’t 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


159 


have thought it of you,” Jean said sarcastically and turned off 
leaving Alice with a crimson angry face. 

Preparations for the tea were begun, however, regardless 
of Jean’s opposition; that is, plans were made and invitations 
sent out; but when it came to the real work it was found 
necessary to placate her; for, though Alice could decorate the 
rooms beautifully and Elise could suggest no end of nice 
dishes, neither of them could do the cooking. Submitting 
to the inevitable, Jean allowed herself to be easily mollified, 
and with Noona’s help undertook to prepare for the party. 
The two days that followed were busy ones, but when Jean 
took a last survey of the tables she felt repaid for her trouble. 
All the rest were in the drawing room and having a jolly time 
— judging by the noise they were making — and hastily giving 
last directions to Noona she went in. 

As she neared the door, there came a shout of laughter, suit- 
ing elegant society manners as described ' by mamma, and 
upon going in she was embarrassed to find all eyes turned 
upon her with expressions of ill-concealed amusement; at the 
same time she caught sight of a pair of feet disappearing 
under the table. When she had somehow gotten through 
with her greetings Alice came up bringing a tall dark young 
man whom she introduced as Mr. Winn. He was graceful, 
sedate and so handsome that he would have been called pretty, 
but for his six feet of masculine muscularity. 

The laughing burst out afresh when Alice went to the table, 
lifted the cover and said in a stage whisper: 

“Say, it’s all over now and nobody hurt. Come out now 
like a good boy!” 

There was no response and she began to snap her fingers 
and whistle, calling: 

“Here Tip! Here!” 

The laughing became uproarious as the owner of the feet 
rushed out on all fours barking furiously. He was a lank young 


160 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 



fellow with hair and eyebrows several shades whiter than his 
ruddy face. When he regained a standing posture, Alice 
caught his sleeve between the tips of her fingers and came 
dragging him up to be introduced to Jean. Instead of making 
his best bow as Alice commanded, Mr. Smith — for that was 
his name — gave a gasp and tumbled over backwards, and keep- 
ing his feet by a dextrous summersault, ran behind one of 
the curtains ; in attempting to extract him from which position 
Alice made more fun for the crowd, who laughed as if they 
would hurt themselves. 

Mr. Smith evidently intended this as his contribution to 
the evening’s entertainment; professing to stand in awe of Jean 
on account of her being a teacher, he managed to go through 
some ridiculous antic every time he found himself near her 
during the evening, and it certainly did add to the hilarity of 
the occasion. Jean was painfully embarrassed and wondered 
to see her mother smiling on behavior which was so different 
from the standard she had always held up to her children; 
but then Alice was the most self-possessed, sauciest, of the 
ringleaders and Elise was laughing approval. 

That night when everybody was gone except Louis and 
the two “drummers” who were devoting themselves to Alice 
and Callie, Louis was inspired to propose a camp fish. The 
girls and the young men caught eagerly at the idea, but Elise 
demurred, though she finally consented because as she said 
she wanted to make the girls have a nice time while she was 
with them. Next morning, Mrs. Matthews and Annie, who 
were eager to do anything that would make Louis’ time pass 
pleasantly, came over and the trip was arranged for the fol- 
lowing week and preparations begun. In the midst of the 
busiest time Robert Bruce arrived and was gladly welcomed 
as one of the party by Alice and Elise who eagerly explained 
their plans to him. 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


161 


“Jean, you don’t seem to be as enthusiastic as the rest of 
us!” he remarked, when he had been given all the details. 

“Jean isn’t going,” said Elise. 

“Why isn’t she?” Robert asked, in evident surprise. 

“Why of course Jean can’t go! Who would take care of 
mamma and the children?” said Alice. 

“But she must! Do, Jean; if you will, I’ll make it my special 
mission to see that you have a pleasant time,” urged Robert. 

“There isn’t any doubt about my having a pleasant time, 
but I don’t see how I can go!” Jean replied a little wistfully, 
and Robert dropped the subject. 

He hurried off home after dinner, however, and next morn- 
ing there came a note from his mother, asking Mrs. Conway 
to bring Archie and Kit, and pay a visit at Mock Orange while 
the young people were off on their frolic. Almost on the heels 
of the note came Judge Bruce in his road carriage; and in a 
few hours the mother and the youngsters were off and gone. 
It was all done in such a rush towards the last, that when Jean 
and Alice actually found themselves off for a happy time with 
their burden of care for a while laid aside, it seemed more like 
one of their old day-dreams than a reality. 

Mrs. Matthews and Annie preferred to go in their rockaway 
with their own horses and driver, but the rest all bundled into 
a big wagon with the tent and provisions. Alice and Mr. 
Smith took the reins till they nearly upset the whole affair two 
or three times; then they were sent to the rear in disgrace and 
the post of honor given to Jean and Robert. 

It was a long morning’s drive through sunshine and shade, 
beguiled by jokes and songs, and filled to the brim with fun 
and laughter. Only once did feelings come near being hurt; 
that was when Callie, who had laid her head in Alice’s lap and 
her hand in Elise’s to doze off a slight headache, woke up to 
find her hand in the tender keeping of Mr. Smith. It was very 
hard to bear all the guying that followed, but Callie who was 


162 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


a real good-natured girl managed to get through, with Jean’s 
and Robert’s assistance, without losing her temper. 

When the sun began to grow oppressive, they turned into 
a beautiful grove and were soon busy setting up their camp 
within a few steps of the river which ran sprawling over a 
mass of rocks making lovely little cataracts and foam-covered 
pools. After a cold dinner, eaten within sight and sound of 
the tempting water, they all scrambled down the bank, scat- 
tered about on logs and rocks, and began to fish with zeal and 
noise enough to have frightened all the fish into the gulf of 
Mexico. Alice was the first to get a bite and she became so 
excited over it that she landed her fish in a tree where it was 
the object of general ridicule till Mr. Smith shot it down and 
presented it to its proud captor as an Irish canary that whistled 
Molly Darling in five different languages. 

When the sun sank behind the dense forest on the farther 
side of the river, the last echoes of fun died away and the 
tired fishers betook themselves to camp where Frank, the 
driver, already had the fire lighted. 

It was decided by drawing straws that Alice and Mr. Winn 
should cook supper; and then the others disposed themselves 
around in the hammocks, on stumps, or anything that afforded 
a resting place, to suppress their appetites as best they could 
in sight of the steaming savory pans and skillets that Alice 
soon had bubbling and sizzling away around the fire. The 
flickering light on the dancing leaves around and the soothing 
splash and gurgle of the river near had a soothing effect on 
the idlers, and soon they had recovered from their fatigue 
sufficiently to begin to whet their wits on the two unfortunates 
who were perspiring in front of the fire. But Alice and her 
assistant proved themselves game to the last and tossed off 
all criticisms with a sparkle that left their tormentors little to 
be proud of. In the midst of an animated discussion as to 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


163 


the best way in particular to do everything in general, Mr. 
Smith jumped up exclaiming: 

"Just look at Winn!” 

Mr. Winn, who was apparently about to put a handful of 
eggs into the coffee pot, paused with uncertainty expressed 
in every line of the big apron with which Alice had invested 
his manly form and said helplessly: 

"Miss Alice told me to do it!” 

"O Miss Alice! Miss Alice! that you should so betray the 
trust reposed in you by this famishing crowd — so impose on 
the credulity of our innocent natures as to attempt to give us 
our omelette and coffee mixed! O Humbug, thy name is 
Alice!” 

"Go on, Mr. Winn, I know more about making coffee than 
anybody in this crowd, Jean not excepted,” said Alice firmly. 

"The very idea! when mamma knows so much about coffee 
that she can name the brand as soon as she tastes it,” said 
Annie Matthews. 

"There is a vast difference between naming and making,” 
Alice returned significantly. 

Then Elise had something to say about French coffee, and 
Mrs. Matthews took issue with her, and in the midst of the 
discussion, Mr. Smith stood up on his stump and shouted: 

"Ladies and Gentlemen! 

"In order to properly evoke the latent culinary talents of the 
young damsels present, and also to carefully preserve the gas- 
tronomic equilibrium of the masculine element of this piscato- 
rial expedition, one generous manly soul (here the speaker 
struck his own heroic breast) has determined to immolate 
himself, to offer as it were his personal liberty and the biggest 
part of his measly little salary on the altar of matrimony. 
Therefore, be it know, that upon the madamselle who prepares 
the best meal eaten during our classic sojourn amid these 
pastoral scenes shall be bestowed the hand, heart, and fortune 


164 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


of B. Tipton Smith, Esquire.” The announcement was re- 
ceived with applause, and the speaker hastened to add, “Or, as 
the dear ladies would put it, the fortune, hand, and heart of the 
said B. T. S.” This last was received with hisses by the dear 
ladies present, which rather disconcerted the orator, but he con- 
tinued : “This prize* shall be awarded by the free and unbiased 
vote of the gentlemen. There shall be no buying of votes, no 
ballot-box stuffing, no intimidation — ” 

“Hear! hear!” interrupted Callie enthusiastically. The 
speaker turned a mournful but sympathetic gaze upon her and 
said in a voice full of tears: 

“No’m! no’m! it won’t do any good to beg either. We are 
sorry for you — our heart breeds for you! But — this thing has 
got to be done up according to Hoyle. Now, as I was going 
to remark, the fortune consists of one shoe-blacking set (as 
good as new) one grip, in which the articles though numerous 
are for the most part unmentionable, one flap-jack pocketbook 
containing one unpaid board bill, two duns, and a lovely piece 
of court-plaster, and — and — er — futures! vast, voluminous, 
beautiful, entrancing futures! As for the hand, it is sufficient 
to say that it has a grip that is simply paralyzing to the great 
American bird on the dollars of our daddies, and never deserts 
a friend so long as he has a cent to be spent or a cigar to be 
smoked. But it is really the heart which is the gem of this 
collection; being in fact one of the finest pieces of prehistoric 
art ever brought to this country. It is a genuine sugar-coated, 
stem-winding, double-back-action affair, with water-proof and 
self-regulating attachment, a little weather-beaten, but still in 
the ring.” 

“Is it a self-feeder?” asked Alice, in a cold, businesslike 
voice. But the speaker only waved aside the interruption, and 
continued: 

“Recently this gem has been in the possession of Miss Alice 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


165 


Conway, but she pronounced it unseaworthy, and laid it up in 
the dry docks for repairs, where — ” 

Here the speaker’s eloquence received a sudden check; Alice 
shied an egg at him, in trying to dodge which he lost his bal- 
ance and tumbled over backwards into a pile of brush, leaving 
nothing of himself visible except the soles of his shoes point- 
ing gracefully skyward; nothing daunted, however, their owner 
continued to spout forth the praises of his gem of prehistoric 
art from his lowly position amid the shouts of everybody. 
When the young man recovered sufficiently to be pulled out, 
he was as stiff as a dummy, and they planted him on his stump 
again. As he mopped the dripping egg from his woe-begone 
face and bewailed in pathetic strains the ingratitude of human 
nature, supper was announced and nobody waited for a second 
invitation. 

Alice had been very lucky that evening, or else she knew 
more about cooking than she liked to admit; for everybody 
praised the supper. Whereupon she immediately set up a 
claim to the personal belongings of Mr. B. Tipton Smith, and 
Mr. Winn took a piece of fishing-line for a noose and fastened 
him to the string of the big apron she wore. 

After supper, a farmer from the only house in sight came 
over to chat, and under his piloting they went for a moonlight 
boat-ride ; and far into the night, the birds and varmints in the 
woods around were kept awake by the songs that floated up 
from the water. It was a tired crowd that climbed the bank at 
last, but they were not to rest even then; for no sooner were 
they settled, the ladies in the tent and the young men in the 
hammocks, than Elise, in whom the spirit of mischief seemed 
fairly to have broken loose, began a serenade. The young 
men begged and pleaded and Mrs. Matthews remonstrated 
and then scolded, but all to no purpose; Elise followed her own 
sweet, wild will and quit only when everybody had given up in 
despair. Quiet had scarcely settled over the little camp, when 


166 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


Callie sprang up crying that there was a lizzard on her bed, 
and amid a general scrimmage the candle was lighted and a 
search begun for the intruder. The young men received this 
fresh interruption with groans and hisses, which provoked 
Elise to give them the barnyard song. 

“Do, good ladies, give your unworthy dogs of servants rest!” 
Louis pleaded pathetically, but Mr. Smith got up and ran 
wildly about shouting: 

“Shoo! Shoo!” 

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” crowed Elise defiantly. Callie and 
Alice, who were thoroughly awake by this time, joined in, 
and for several minutes there was a pandemonium of sounds 
that fairly drowned Mrs. Matthews’ and Jean’s indignant pro- 
tests. 

When the laughing mischief makers had to stop from sheer 
lack of breath, there came to their ears from the darkness out- 
side, a chorus of irrepressible chuckles that from feminine 
throats would have been called giggles, and Robert’s voice said, 
with the accent and intonation of a professional showman: 

“And now, gentlemen, having regaled you with such sweet 
music, we will proceed with the magic lantern show.” 

“What do those idiots mean?” said Elise, turning to Alice 
and Callie, who, like herself, were sitting up in bed; as she did 
so she raised her head slightly, throwing her profile on the 
wall of the tent with the mouth open. Another of those pro- 
voking chuckles greeted her remark, and the showman said: 

“The canvas before you, gentlemen, is a heroic -repre- 
sentation of Curiosity, rampant. Observe the classic pose of 
the head and the realistic position of the mouth — open as if to 
swallow every word. If it were not that the string is out of 
order, I would take great pleasure in giving you an exhibition 
of the remarkable rapidity with which that mouth works. Pass- 
ing around to the left,” said the showman, moving as he spoke, 
“we next have a very fine likeness of Queen Bess, of red- 


WHIRLING IN SOCIETY 


167 


headed fame. A slight defect in the canvass exaggerates some- 
what the hook of the nose, but no one could fail to recognize 
the—” 

“Oh! the candle!” cried Alice frantically, as an idea of the 
game dawned upon her. She and Callie both made a dash 
for the tell-tale candle just in time to bring their heads to- 
gether with a thump. 

“There! The monkey’s sick and the show’s over!” said 
Robert, and the hateful fellows went laughing back to their 
hammocks, while three mortified girls crept under the cover 
and kept very quiet all through the night, when some 
belated mocking bird aroused the camp with a soft nocturne, 
. or a straggling moonbeam made one of the sleepers in the 
hammocks turn, there floated out on the soft air one of those 
gleeful, provoking, tantalizing masculine titters. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 

Y the end of the following day the 
fishing, had grown monotonous 
j and it was decided around the 
J camp-fire that night, to spend 
the next day visiting a spot farther up 
the river, known as the witches’ spring. 

So in the gray dawn, the young men 
got up and, with the help of the farm- 
er, dragged the skiffs over the shoals 
to the deep water above. There was 
an early breakfast, eaten while the first 
beams of the sun were sparkling in the 
dewdrops around, and then, with lunch 
baskets and hunting traps, they were 
off for the hills through which the 
little river wound its way several miles 
above. 

At the foot of the next shoals, they landed, and as there was 
a mile or more to be walked before they reached the spring 
where dinner was to be eaten, they scattered in groups of 
twos and threes in search of flowers and game, with the 
understanding that all must keep within sound of the guide’s 
halloo. The depths of the forests were very enticing after the 
glare of the sun on the water, and it was not till after the sun 
had passed the meridian that the guide succeeded, by dint of 
much shouting, in bringing all the party together at the 



( 168 ) 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


169 


witches’ spring. This proved to be a cold stream coming from 
under the foot of a cliff which ran up the hillside; its peculiar- 
ity was a fissure running up the face of the cliff which, when 
the wind was in a certain direction, acted as a speaking tube 
and carried all sounds made about the spring up to the 
shoulder of the hill where the cliff ended. 

Though everybody was tired and hungry, as usual after 
one of their tramps, they all scrambled eagerly up the zigzag 
path leading to the ledge where the fissure ended. Then while 
the old farmer below ran the entire scale of sounds from a 
whisper to an Indian war-whoop the listeners bent breathlessly 
over the crack in the rock on which they were standing. But 
as usual in such cases things went against them; the wind 
was contrary and though they could hear the old man’s shouts 
over the edge of the cliff, not a sound came through the 
witches’ speaking tube. 

“Twas ever thus!” sighed Mr. Smith pathetically, pressing 
his hand to his heart. 

“The idea, Robert Bruce,” said Mrs. Matthews, who was still 
panting from the climb, “of you bringing me off into these 
wilds and dragging me up this mountain for nothing.” 

“It will be different when the wind changes. I’m sure 
there’s something in it; for I remember being here with father 
when I was a boy,” said Robert defensively. 

“Oh, come now, Bruce! That was when you believed in 
- Santa Claus and ghosts, wasn’t it?” said Louis. 

“Of course there’s something in it — a great big something 
that anybody ought to be ashamed to tell,” said Alice. 

“Pitch him over the cliff — the traitor!” said Elise. 

“No, don’t give him any dinner,” suggested Mr. Winn. 
“All in favor of withholding Mr. Bruce’s rations till the wind 
changes make it known by saying ‘ay’.” 

“Ay,” came in a unanimous shout. 

“If that is your decision, I’d better hurry below and secure 


/ 


170 THE WITCHES’ SPRING 

a basket/’ said the culprit, and he sprang down the path 
leaving Mrs. Matthews, whom he had almost literally “drag- 
ged” up, to get back as best she could. The rest followed 
at different paces and all fell upon the dinner the more rav- 
enously for their disappointment. 

So far from being cowed by the jeering he had received, 
Robert was anxious to take the party up the hill again when 
dinner was over, but only Alice and Jean were willing to take 
the climb again. 

“This will be a fine place to Test,” he said when they had 
gained the top and were beyond the reach of pebbles and 
jokes from below. “We can make ourselves comfortable and 
wait; I’m sure the wind must change some time this afternoon, 
and you’ll be glad you didn’t miss hearing such a natural curi- 
osity.” 

Seated around the fissure the three listened attentively when- 
ever any one came up to the spring below; but after several 
disappointments, they began to lose interest and were deep in 
the discussion of something else, when Robert, who was lying 
on the grass, raised himself on his elbow and leaning over 
the crevice said excitedly: 

“There! Just feel that current!” 

“Now, if some one would only come to the spring and 
talk!” said Alice spreading out her hands in the upward 
rushing breeze. 

“Let’s throw a stone and attract their attention and then 
motion to them,” said Jean reaching for a pebble. 

“Hold on! There come Elise and Louis now. Won’t they 
be surprised when we repeat their conversation to them?” 
laughed Alice. 

“We may prepare ourselves to hear some mighty soft talk,” 
laughed Robert. 

“Some regular ‘spooning,’ after the latest and most ap- 
proved style,” said Alice. 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


171 


‘‘Why, you don’t think they are in love, do you? Elise is 
ever so much too old for him,” said Jean earnestly. 

Robert and Alice both laughed and the latter said: 

“Of course not, goosey; they are only flirting. But both 
are putting all their science into the game and it’s hard to 
tell which will come out ahead.” 

“I wonder that Mrs. Matthews doesn’t get uneasy,” said 
Robert. 

“Not she! She’s too sure of Louis.” 

The couple below came on and passed out of their sight 
below the edge of the cliff, and the next minute there came 
the sound of a dipper in the water and Elise’s voice saying: 

“I was sure you were quite in love with her when I was 
here last.” 

“But one doesn’t see the little stars when the moon is beam- 
ing upon him in all her glory,” came in sentimental tones 
from Louis. There was a light laugh and a tap of Elise’s 
coquettish fan as she said mockingly: 

“Ah! flatterer!” 

“Besides,” continued Louis, “you would allow a man no 
room for development.” 

Jean drew back a little uneasily, but Robert and Alice were 
still absorbed in the strange phenomenon. Elise replied: 

“That’s true; and there is a wide difference between the 
tastes of the boy and the man. And now that you have spoken 
of it, aren’t you surprised to see what a commonplace little 
drudge Jean has developed into? I thought once she promised 
to make quite a brilliant woman.” 

The startled listeners drew back and exchanged telegraphic 
glances. In Robert’s eyes there was mingled indignation and 
sympathy; in Jean’s only a world of dumb pain; while Alice’s 
blazed with anger. She sprang to her feet exclaiming: 

“The wretches!” and turned to the path. Jean caught at 


172 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


her skirts but missed them and the next instant Alice was on 
the warpath towards the offenders below. 

“Catch her! Oh, please catch her!” Jean said imploringly, 
and Robert started in pursuit; Alice heard him and almost 
flying over rocks and stumps was face to face with her prey 
before he could stop her. Not wishing to witness a scene, 
yet feeling that his presence wouldn’t be pleasant to Jean just 
then, Robert turned off and joined a group who were practic- 
ing rifle shooting. 

When Alice went back in search of Jean, she found her 
sitting behind a clump of bushes with her face buried in her 
arms. 

“O, darling, don’t cry! I love you if I do sometimes have 
fits,” she cried, sitting down and pulling the big sister’s head 
over into her lap. 

“I’m not crying,” said Jean, lifting a tearless, smitten face, 
“and O, Alice! I hope you didn’t say anything to them.” 

“I just did though; I told them the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth, that will do them good and not 
harm so long as they both shall live,” said Alice with unction. 

“But it was only the truth — what Elise said. I’ve lived 
among the pots and kettles so long that I’m not fit for any- 
thing else. Just look at my hands, how big and clumsy they 
are! And my mind is the same way. I get embarrassed and 
confused before people and behave like a simpleton. You 
know I do!” 

“Well, now,” said Alice, settling herself to argue the case, 
“I wouldn’t care if I couldn’t talk the nonsense that the rest 
of us do, and that goose of a Tip Smith would embarrass any- 
body who didn’t have the brass of a door-knob. But when it 
comes to talking to real sensible people, you sail in beautifully, 
dear, I can tell you. Why, didn’t I hear you discussing the 
nebula theory with Prof. Wilkins the other day, and advocat- 
ing the idea that the whole planetary system of our circum- 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


173 


polar cosmos revolves about the sub-lunar orbit of our vox 
populi? Eh! Now didn’t I — or words to that effect?” 

Jean laughed which was just what Alice wanted and she 
continued, earnestly: 

“No, honey, don’t you bother; for when it comes to sense 
you’ve got it — enough to bury those two butterflies out of 
sight in. And then think of what you have done for the rest 
of us! Why, what would have become of mamma and me 
if you had been selfish like Elise or Mrs. Matthews’ chil- 
dren?” 

“Yes, I know I have made myself what I am of my own 
choice,” said Jean, “and I’d do it again if my life were to be 
gone over, but sometimes it comes over me — what I might 
have been — ” 

“I know! It’s fits! I’ve had ’em myself,” said Alice, sym- 
pathetically. 

“But it was horrible of you to go and make a scene with 
Elise and Louis; how could you?” 

“Oh, you and mamma won’t have it that anything is lady- 
like except to hold still and let people trample on you; but 
that isn’t my politics. I just told them how mean and con- 
temptible it was in them to be criticising a noble, unselfish 
girl like you, and that for my part I wouldn’t forgive them if 
I didn’t think it was because they were incapable of appre- 
ciating you.” 

“O, Alice! I wish you hadn’t said it! I’d give anything 
if you hadn’t!” 

“And I wouldn’t take anything for the satisfaction of say- 
ing it,” said Alice airily and continued, “Elise fired up and 
said that of course listeners never heard good of themselves, 
and I told her that she might have learned that by experience, 
but I never had. Then Louis faced me like a little man and 
said he had not said anything disparaging of you, and when 
I came to think of it he hadn’t, so I told him I would take 


174 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


back all I had said to him, but that hereafter I should have my 
own opinion of Mistress Elise; she replied that I was welcome 
to it and so it ended.’ , 

“Well, please don’t say anything more about the matter; 
just let it all pass as if nothing had happened, won’t you?” 

“Oh I’ve no objection to letting by-gones be by-gones pro- 
vided they don’t do it again. That’s the good of blowing off 
steam, don’t you know? It’s you people who bottle up your 
wrath and never say anything, that don’t get over things.” 

After the party had returned to camp that evening Elise 
seized a moment when there was no one in the tent except 
Jean, Alice and herself and said: 

“Alice says you heard what I said to Louis Matthews about 
being disappointed in you, Jean, and your feelings are hurt, 
but I don’t see why they should be. You know you told me 
yourself that your education was cut short by Lina’s poor 
health.” 

“I suppose it was the truth of what you said that made it 
hurt; at any rate I could have borne the truth better from 
any one else,” Jean replied: 

“Well, it’s unfortunate to be so sensitive, especially about 
anything that is true, and you ought to get over it.” 

“I dare say I shall — in time,” Jean replied. And having 
thus made her apologies, Elise dismissed the subject. 

The afternoon of the next day had been decided upon as 
the time for breaking up camp and going home, and long 
before daylight the young men were up and off on a wild 
turkey hunt in the hope of having some trophies to carry to 
town. Left to themselves, Mrs. Matthews and the girls in- 
dulged in a long morning nap and then all felt rather at 
a loss how to while awav the time. The river bank was cool 
and shady and the shimmering, sparkling splashing water 
so enticing that in a little while they found themselves col- 
lected at the water’s edge, all except Elise. A long slender 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


175 


ratan vine that the young men had used in getting the boats 
over the shoals lay near, and with it Jean, Annie, Allice and 
Callie began a game of jump-the-rope while Mrs. Matthews 
divided her time between one of the novels she kept for such 
emergencies and a lot of black ants that disputed possession 
of the seat she had chosen. The fun and the rope were in full 
swing when Elise ran laughing into their midst dressed in 
a costume improvised from a flannel skirt, a blouse waist, 
black stockings and some old slippers. 

“O, Elise!” cried everybody in astonishment, and Mrs. Mat- 
thews added, anxiously, “You are surely not thinking of going 
into the water!” 

“Yes, I am,” said Elise skipping about in glee. “That 
water has been tantalizing me ever since I came within sight 
of it and I’m going to have a good plunge now if I never 
have another.” 

“But it is too cold,” urged Mrs. Matthews; “the young 
men were thoroughly chilled when they got through pulling 
the boats over the rocks yesterday morning, and Louis cau- 
tioned me against letting you girls go into it.” 

“That was because it was so early; it is warmer now that 
the sun has been shining on it for several hours. Besides, 
bathing you know is about all the fun a ‘fresh widow’ as Alice 
calls me, is allowed to have; and I’m not going to let you 
old fogies scare me out of it.” 

“Little do you care what is or isn’t allowed ‘fresh widows’!” 
Mrs. Matthews exclaimed tartly, and then added earnestly, 
“If you are determined to go in, wait till the young men come 
back so there will be some one to pull you out in case you 
cramp.” 

Elise laughed at the first remark, and said in reply to the 
second: 

“Not I! Mother nature has been too sparing in some of 


176 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


her gifts to me for me to exhibit her niggardliness when there 
are masculine eyes about.” 

“Let her alone, Mrs. Matthews; Elise’s head is as hard as 
a rock and if she will, she will. But before she goes into that 
water, she’d better sit down here quietly and tell me what she 
wants done with her ‘things’,” said Alice. 

“But surely some of you would come to my rescue, if any- 
thing happened to me!” said Elise, losing a shade of her 
gaiety. There was a general disclaimer, and turning to Jean 
she said, coaxingly: 

“But you would, cherie, I know! Wouldn’t you?” 

“No indeed she wouldn’t! I wouldn’t let her! Jean’s life 
is too valuable!” interposed Alice. 

“It’s plain that none of you think my life very valuable; so, 
as ‘naught is never in danger’ in I go!” Elise replied in a tone 
of pique. 

“You ought to know the value of your life better than any- 
body else; and I can’t see that you have any reason to com- 
plain if we think more of ours than you do of yours,” Mrs. 
Matthews answered. 

But Elise was not listening; she was wading out over the 
shoals toward a pool where the water was deep enough for 
swimming. On the edge she poised gracefully a moment then 
waving them a laughing defiance sprang in. She was a capital 
swimmer and went darting here and there, kicking, splashing, 
diving, and shouting with delight. The girls ceased to think 
of danger and from the tops of rocks and stumps shouted to 
the swimmer and laughed in sympathy and admiration. Mrs. 
Matthews stood on the bank with her watch in her hand and 
continued to beg her to come out; but Elise paid no atten- 
tion to her. 

“Let her alone, mamma, she isn’t going to mind anything 
you say to her; besides, she knows what she is about,” said 
Annie. 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


177 


“But she has already been in ten minutes and that water 
is fearfully cold,” urged Mrs. Matthews. “Do Elise, please 
come out now!” But she spoke to deaf ears; for five, ten, 
fifteen minutes more the fun went on while Mrs. Matthews 
continued to count the minutes and beg; then suddenly Elise 
lifted a blanched and terrified face and uttering a shriek that 
seemed to freeze the blood in their hearts, went under. For 
one awful moment they stood stunned; then began to run 
aimlessly about echoeing that fearful scream.. Quick as 
thought Jean ran and caught up one end of the ratan, at 
the same time calling and motioning to the others to take hold 
of the other end. 

“No, you shall not!” cried Alice, catching hold of her. For 
a few seconds the two girls struggled fiercely, but Alice was 
the stronger. 

“Help me for poor Elise’s sake!” Jean said, piteously turn- 
ing to Mrs. Matthews. Annie and her mother came to her 
assistance and among them they wrenched Alice’s clutching 
fingers loose. Jean ran forward over the rocks tying her 
end of the supple vine around her waist as she went. In the 
meantime Elise had risen to the surface, a mute, writhing 
mass, and disappeared again. Jean paused a moment at the 
edge of the pool to take a searching look into the water where 
Elise had last gone down, but glancing back she saw that Alice 
had gotten loose from Mrs. Matthews and was running after 
her. There was no time to be lost; turning a white, but reso- 
lute face towards them a moment she said: 

“If I go under, pull; you know I can’t swim,” and waded 
in feeling carefully every foot of the way. Mrs. Matthews 
and Annie had taken hold of the rope too and all of them 
were coming after her when Alice who had just reached the 
pool saw her sister when about waist-deep give a sudden 
lurch and go under the water. Alice didn’t scream, but catch- 
ing the rope said, with an agonized face: 


178 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


“Pull!” 

At the same time straining’ at it with all her strength. The 
three along the line lent her their united aid; but to no 
purpose. Alice’s hands slipped over the hard, green surface 
of the vine, blistering and tearing the flesh as they went; but 
the end in the water gave not a jot. It seemed as if there 
were thousands of pounds of weight fastened to the cord. 
Could it be that Jean had caught her foot and must perish 
almost within hands’ reach and while they were putting forth 
energy enough to save her? Were they to carry two of their 
little party home dead? More than one face was lifted in mute 
prayer towards that bright and smiling sky as they strained at 
the rope with laboring breath and sickening hearts. 

Alice knelt and bracing her knees against the sharp rocks, 
wrapped her skirts about the ratan, and calling to the others, 
strained every muscle in one agonized effort for her sister’s 
life. 

There! Thank God! the precious burden moved!! The 
others felt the yield like an electric shock and bent to their 
task with new strength. Slowly — oh! so slowly, that moments 
seemed like hours! — the line came back. 

At last with a cry that thrilled every heart, Alice sprang 
into the pool and lifted Jean’s head above the water. The 
others rushed forward and lifting and pulling were amazed 
to find Elise clinging to Jean with the grip of the drowning. 
But there was no time for exclamations or anything except 
work; both girls were insensible and the blood was flowing 
from the side of Jean’s head. While they were struggling to 
the shore with their double burden, Louis and Robert, who 
had heard the screaming some distance off, came running up. 
The two girls were carried to the tent and the work of restor- 
ing them begun vigorously. After some minutes, Jean began 
to moan and to try to raise her hand to the wound on her head. 
Alice sat down and held the head in her lap while Robert cut 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


179 


the hair from around the gash and closed it by tying the short 
hairs across; then they staunched the blood by wet towels and 
soon Jean opened her eyes. But in Elise’s case, the process was 
more tedious and the result for some time doubtful. Besides 
the greater length of time she had been in the water, the 
effects of the cramping she had suffered were against her. 
Their efforts were rewarded at last, however, and she came 
back to consciousness; but she was completely unstrung by 
the nervous shock, and it soon became as much of a task to 
quiet her as it had been to resuscitate her. 

It was long after the camp’s usual dining hour when, having 
gotten the two patients snugly in bed and changed their own 
wet clothes, the rest of the party got together and dined off 
their scant supply of cooked food and talked in low, awed tones 
of the terrible way in which their pleasure-trip had come so 
near ending. 

That afternoon — Louis and Mr. Smith took the rockaway 
and went out to get more provisions; for Mrs. Matthews said 
that if Elise didn’t recuperate fast there was no telling when 
she would be able to go home. 

Elise continued unnerved all afternoon. In her wild ramb- 
ling talks it was hard to tell which she bemoaned most, the 
terrible fate that had come so near overtaking her, or the figure 
she cut before the young men in her limp, wet condition. Her 
watchers had to laugh at her some times in spite of her pitiable 
state. 

“Oh!” she would cry, jumping up in bed and wringing her 
hands wildly, “that horrid, horrid water! Oh, I just know my 
feet dangled down like two sticks tied to strings. It is choking 
me — choking me — that horrible water! Just to think of going 
down under it and smothering — smothering to death! And 
those miserable fellows had to run up and look at me! The 
wretches! I know they are laughing in their sleeves about it 
now. Oh! I shall go deranged if I don’t quit thinking about 


180 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


the whole miserable affair. Talk to me, somebody, or sing, or 
read; do something to divert my mind!” 

“It’s a blessed thing for you those boys did run up. I can 
tell you I had no notion of breaking my back lugging you up 
that hill — after you’d gone and got Jean nearly drowned 
through your hard-headedness, and made us all tear our hands 
to pieces trying to save her. And besides, how would we have 
known what to do to bring you to?” Alice would answer im- 
patiently. But the others were more merciful and tried more 
soothing ways with her. 

While the others were at supper that night, Alice, who had 
been left with the sick girls, came out with a lighted candle 
and began searching about on the ground. 

“What is the matter?” asked Mrs. Matthews. 

“Nothing. I am just looking for that lock of hair we cut 
off of Jean’s head. I thought I would like to keep it,” Alice 
answered, going on with her search. Nothing more was said, 
and after a while Alice went in without having found the lock ; 
but then — she hadn’t looked in the inside pocket of anybody’s 
vest. 

Next morning, Jean was up with the rest, though she still 
kept a bandage around her head; Elise was much better, too, 
and was anxious to get away from the scene. At breakfast, it 
was decided that they would go that afternoon; and afterwards 
they went to the croquet grounds for a last game. Alice’s 
hands which Robert had bound up the afternoon before were 
too sore to permit her to play, so she and Mr. Winn perched 
themselves on stumps to criticise the game, they said, though 
Alice’s principal object soon appeared to be to abuse Jean 
for her poor strokes. Poor Jean who played wretchedly at 
best couldn’t hit anything this morning, probably on account 
of the light feeling in her head, but her partners worked hard 
to bring her out; Robert especially made some masterful 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


181 


strokes in her defense both against Alice’s sharp tongue and 
the mallets of the other side. 

“I’ll tell you what,” exclaimed Louis, “If Bruce goes into 
law as he does into croquet we shall hear of him on the 
supreme bench some day!” 

“I know of but one way to succeed at anything and that is 
to give my whole mind to it,” Robert answered. 

“A good rule for either law or croquet; but you have made 
a mistake in the beginning,” said Louis, with an air of super- 
ior wisdom. 

“Do you think so?” returned Robert carelessly, as he sighted 
for a stroke. “Please explain wherein,” he continued with 
more interest when he had made the stroke and sent his 
adversary’s ball flying out of bounds. 

“You should have chosen a quicker road to fortune. The 
law is all right if a man expects to go into politics and work 
for fame; but money is the power that moves the world to-day, 
and a man can’t be much who hasn’t got money, and a plenty 
of it.” 

“Bah! That only means that a man is to delve all his 
natural life, and sit up nights besides, just to rake together 
what other people will worry the life out of him trying to 
get it from him, and what will make his pious relations pro- 
fane his sainted memory and pull each other’s hair about when 
death has loosened his grip on it. No sir, if I had money 
enough to keep me in cigars and hair-dye the rest of my days 
I’d retire to the — er — cool shades of some arctic clime and 
court the muses and the rest of the ladies,” said Mr. Smith. 

“And be of no account to yourself or anybody else. While 
if you made a lot of money, you could do ever so much good 
with it,” said Alice. 

“Which people who get a lot of money always leave for 
those who are going to get it to do,” Mr. Smith responded. 

Everybody had something to say and said it emphatically, 


182 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


but the game ended at last without anybody’s being convinced. 

Their old farmer friend had promised to let them have some 
eggs, and as they were their principal dependence for dinner, 
the crowd set off to get them. Jean was not able to walk 
so far and Robert remained behind to pack the croquet set. 

“I don’t think I will ever try to play again,” Jean said in a 
discouraged tone, seating herself on Alice’s stump. “I make 
such a miserable out at everything.” 

“You make a first rate life preserver!” said Robert signifi- 
cantly, as he pulled up wickets and stakes. 

“No, I only wade in, get myself nearly drowned, and give 
everybody a world of trouble.” 

“It was a fortunate thing for your sister that you had the 
thought and courage to do that. Suppose you had stood and 
jumped up and down and screamed as the others did?” said 
Robert, coming up and appropriating the stump Mr. Winn 
had vacated. “But what do you think of Louis’ criticism of 
me?” he continued earnestly. 

“I think he is wrong. I know money is necessary — it’s 
awful to be without it — but I would hate to think there was 
nothing better in the world to live for.” 

“So would I, and I’m glad you agree with me. It helps 
a fellow wonderfully to know that his friends approve of his 
course.” 

“I didn’t think you needed such help; I imagined that you 
were not much troubled with doubts about things,” said Jean 
enquiringly. 

“I haven’t been. I have always felt that it was best to take 
the- longer road and gain the higher plane. But” (here Robert 
smiled a little ruefully) “you see when a fellow has found 
the best little woman in the world and wants to ask her to 
marry him, he begins to doubt the wisdom of any course ex- 
cept the one that would soonest put him in a position to do 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


183 


Jean smiled in appreciation of what she felt to be a con- 
fidence. 

‘Til tell you what,” she said, nodding brightly as an idea 
struck her, “if a fellow is sure he has found the best little 
woman, he ought to tell her and ask her to wait.” 

“Do you think so?” Robert said eagerly; and for a moment 
there was something in his frank brown eyes that made her 
turn her own away as she answered not quite so decidedly: 

“Yes, I do.” 

But when the next moment she looked at him again the 
something was gone and Robert said sadly: 

“That would do very well if a man knew he was going to 
make a success in life; but it would be mean, cowardly, to 
bind a woman to an uncertainty.” 

“Oh! but you are going to be a success; we all believe it,” 
Jean answered with a confidence that was calculated to be 
inspiring. 

“I certainly appreciate the confidence my friends seem to 
feel in me, and nothing could be a greater spur; but the road 
to success in law is a long one and in the meantime somebody 
else may get the best little woman.” 

Jean had to laugh at his woebegone face; he joined in 
with her and the subject was changed. 

Elise experienced no bad effects from her journey home 
but the change didn’t afford her the relief of mind she needed. 
She seemed unable to throw off the nervousness her accident 
had left her under and grew anxious to leave the town. She 
had come South, she said, to dispose of her property in order 
to go back to Europe to live; and when Judge Bruce brought 
Mrs. Conway home she asked his assistance. He kindly con- 
sented but it proved to be a more tedious process than Elise 
had imagined and she grew very impatient at the delay. To 
the family she complained bitterly of the way her father-in-law 
had treated her; although fabulously rich he had made her 


184 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


allowance so small that she couldn’t live respectably on it in 
America; that was the reason, she said, that she was going 
back to Europe. But it soon became apparent that that was 
not the real reason; life abroad, its gaieties, its freedom from 
care, and its ever changing variety, was her constant theme; 
indeed, she could talk of little else. She had evidently lost 
interest in the life around her though she still made an effort 
to be agreeable when company was present. One day as she 
was bewailing her inability to be off at once, Mrs. Conway 
said: 

“I hope you wouldn’t go anyway till you have seen Rene; 
indeed, I think it your sisterly duty to stay and see him.” 

“I don’t feel that I owe Rene any duty, Lina, though it 
was very kind of you to invite him to see me,” Elise answered; 
and then she went on to tell of his wrong-doings, which were 
the cause, she said of her going off to teach. The mother 
was greatly shocked and defended her favorite step-son as 
usual, but Elise would retract nothing she had said and de- 
clared that she didn’t care to see him again. Jean was troubled 
over the fact which had thus leaked out, that Rene had been 
invited to come to Conway, but knew it would do no good to 
say anything. 

One evening soon after their return from camp, Jean was 
having the porch all to herself; she had felt too tired to go 
out with the others and the mother had gone to bed early 
and left her. She was enjoying the rest and quiet, when there 
was a step in the avenue and Robert advanced into the square 
of light which streamed through the hall door. After greet- 
ing him Jean explained that the others were out and she 
thought he would find them at Mrs. Matthews. 

“I’ll wait for them here if you are not sleepy,” he said, tak- 
ing a seat. “I have come to say good-bye and will be glad 
to postpone it as long as possible.” 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


185 


He explained that he had only come home on a short visit 
and was going back to spend the vacation in study, as he was 
anxious to make the most of his time. Then while the moon 
came around the corner of the old house and sifted its light 
gently upon them through the tree tops, Robert sat and talked, 
of himself as he had never done to any mortal before, of his 
disappointments, his hopes, and his aspirations. He told Jean 
how he had become fascinated with the study of chemistry 
and wanted to devote his life to the grand possibilities which 
he felt it contained; how he had been offered an assistant-pro- 
fessorship in that department in his University, but had de- 
clined it when he found that his parents had set their hearts 
on his following his father in the profession of law; how keen 
the disappointment was at first, but how glad he had been 
since coming to appreciate more fully the sacrifices they were 
making for him. Then he talked of how much good a true 
man could do in any profession by trying always to bring his 
life up to the highest standard. As Jean listened, she felt that 
she had never before appreciated the grandeur of a life inspired 
by lofty purposes, though Robert talked as if all these noble 
thoughts were familiar to her. He took his leave at last and 
as he turned down the steps she said: 

“You will tell me what she says, won’t you? — the best little 
woman, you know!” 

He turned round and for a moment Jean thought he was 
laughing at her; the brim of his hat concealed his eyes, but 
there Was such a suspicious twitching about the corners of 
the brown moustache that she felt sure there must be a twinkle 
in the eyes. 

“We have always been such good friends. That is why I 
felt at liberty to ask,” she hastened to add apologetically. 

“Yes, certainly; I intended you should know. You shall 
hear all she says,” he answered; and when the others met him 


186 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


in the avenue a few moments later they wondered why he was 
so solemn. 

And when everybody else was asleep that night, Jean turned 
her face to the pillow and cried, all because Robert had found 
the best little woman in the world and would probably marry 
her. She had heard it said that when people married they 
lost interest in their old friends and it would be so lonely with 
nobody to send books and sympathize and care for one’s hap- 
piness generally. 

Next morning while Jean made up her lost sleep, two men 
walked up and down the platform of the station and waited 
for the train. 

“Father,” said one of them who was enveloped in a long 
ulster and otherwise equipped for traveling, “I wish you could 
find some way to relieve Jean of so much responsibility; it 
is wearing the life out of her.” 

“See here! young man,” said the judge, turning sharply 
upon his son, “this thing is getting to be monotonous! It 
seems to me that I managed my affairs a good while without 
any assistance from you and — ” 

The judge paused, a sudden light seemed to break upon 
him and he seized Robert’s hand exclaiming: 

“My dear sir! let me congratulate you! Of all things in 
the world — ” 

“Stop, father! stop! Not so fast,” Robert cried, blushing 
up to his hat brim. 

“Do you mean to say that you haven’t said anything to her 
yet?” asked the judge confidently. 

“Yes, yes! She hasn’t even a suspicion yet.” 

“I see! I see! and you tell me, so I can give you a helping 
hand. Good!” 

“Great Scott, no!” cried tlje young fellow excitedly. “Father 
promise me you won’t say anything — that you will let me 
do my own courting!” 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


187 


“But, my dear sir, I have so much influence with her; I 
could do you a world of good!” urged the judge eagerly. 

“But you ought not to exert your influence in a matter of 
this kind, especially for your own son; don’t you see?” 

“True! true!” said the father, thoughtfully. “I had not 
looked at it in that light. But, man alive! why run off and 
throw away your chances this way? Somebody else may 
get ahead of you while you are dilly-dallying this way. Why 
not stay over a day or two and fix matters up?” 

It was now Robert’s time to look sober. 

“But you forget, father, that there’s nothing for me to offer 
a woman yet; I’m only an experiment so far; whether I shall 
ever be worth accepting, the future must decide.” 

“That is true, too, lad, and you have a wise head to have 
thought it all out. But you mean to make a brave fight I 
am sure!” 

“If courage and devotion to duty and hard work will win, 
I shall not be a failure in life, but you know there are many 
other things that influence a woman’s choice and I shall have 
to take my chances. However, I promise you that no disap- 
pointment of that kind shall ever make me the less regardful 
of my duties as a man.” 

“Right! Right my son! And now I begin to feel that you 
will not be a failure,” said the father warmly. 

As the train had come now, the two shook hands and Robert 
got aboard. The judge unfastened his team and climbed into 
his buggy; then as the train still stood he got out again and 
going under the window where Robert sat said: 

“My son, I have always thought well of you, but you have 
laised yourself fifty per cent in my estimation.” 

“Thank you, sir! I hope you will never have cause to re- 
tract that,” said Robert gratefully. 

The train moved off and the judge drove home in a brown 
study over the fact that he had a son old enough to be in 


188 


THE WITCHES’ SPRING 


love with his old friend’s daughter; while Robert turned up 
his collar and settled down to think about what an immense 
advantage Louis Matthews would have over everybody else 
if he should fall in love with a girl — with one girl in particular. 



CHAPTER XVI 

JEAN AND THE JUDGE FLANK THE MOTHER^ POSITION 

EAN intended as soon as Elise left to 
reduce the commissary department 
to a siege footing again, but she 
found herself unable to do so. 
Brother William Henry had 
made a trip to town during Elise’s 
stay and on going back had probably 
reported the flourishing condition in 
which he found the family to the 
others; for very soon more visitors 
began to arrive. First came sister 
Mary Anna, her husband and three 
children; then sister Elizabeth and her 
husband; later brother John and sister 
Felicia came with Sarah, whom they 
proposed to leave with the family till 
school opened. 

Everybody was mighty glad to see everybody and there was 
a constant flutter of coming and going and a general breeze 
cf excitement. When everybody left, they expressed un- 
bounded delight with their visit and gave pressing invitations 
to each and every one to return it. Through it all the mother 
was radiantly happy; but Jean, who was kept in the kitchen 
most of the time, could think of little except the enormous 
debt they were piling up. Rene came when it was too late to 
see Elise, but showed no disposition to depart when he found 

( 189 ) 





190 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


she had gone; he lingered from week to week apparently per- 
fectly contented and behaving himself irreproachably. 

Jean was kept so busy during the rain of company that she 
couldn’t go to have her pass book balanced with Mr. Beard’s 
books; but when everybody except Rene and Sarah had left, 
she took it to town with fear and trembling. 

A young man took the book and disappeared for half an 
hour; when he came back and handed it to her, Jean glanced 
hurriedly over the startlingly long column of items and handed 
it back to him, saying: 

“Tell Mr. Beard he has failed to charge Duke’s bill of 
clothing.” 

The clerk disappeared again, but came back in a few seconds, 
saying: 

“He says shall he charge the order for the hunting outfit 
that Duke presented, too?” 

“Certainly, every thing!” Jean answered, rather dazed, but 
determined not to appear ignorant of any family business. 

“Mr. Beard says the order for this last item isn’t all taken 
up yet, but Duke said he would be back in a few days to take 
it up, so he just charged it all,” the young man said when he 
handed her the book at last. 

She opened it and read: 

“To order given son Duke $25.00. 

Suicidal as such extravagance was, Jean knew her mother 
too well to doubt for a moment that she had given the order. 
Hurrying out to conceal her excitement, she studied the mat- 
ter all the way home. It meant, she knew, a great deal more 
than the waste of twenty-five dollars, bad as that was; it meant 
that there was another Elise in the house to urge on ex- 
penditures, and what was worse, it meant that things were not 
going on as innocently as they had seemed. Nothing had been 
said about a new hunting-trip, and if Rene and Duke were 
concealing so much, it was probable that they were hiding 



Duke sat against the pillar, angry and defiant 









FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


191 


other things, too. These were disturbing thoughts, and Jean 
resolved after a time to lay the whole matter before Judge 
Bruce on the first opportunity. She had learned to know her 
mother’s obstinate nature well enough to realize that it would 
do no good to appeal to her; having taken up the role of 
champion of her injured and slandered stepson, it was not 
probable that anything short of ocular demonstration would 
convince her of his unworthiness. Jean said nothing to Duke 
about her discovery, and for some reason or other the hunt 
didn’t materialize. He and Rene continued to lounge about 
the house and read and sleep as usual. 

One night the mother was taken suddenly ill, and Alice 
ran to call Duke to go for the doctor. She came back in a few 
moments saying the door was locked and she couldn’t make 
him hear. Jean went to the door and soon convinced herself 
that neither Duke nor Rene were in their room. Archie was 
sent for Dr. Bardwell, and after the mother had been relieved, 
Jean took a light and went to examine her brother’s room. 
The door was bolted on the inside and she went around to the 
windows, which opened on the porch; one of them was un- 
fastened, and opening it she put her light in and looked about. 
There was nobody within and the bed had not been disturbed. 
Frightened by this evidence of Duke’s progress in a downward 
course, she climbed in, fastened the window, and, having seen 
that all the doors were secure, went back to her mother’s 
room. While watching she wrote Judge Bruce, asking him to 
come to town as soon as convenient and make an opportunity 
for her to have a talk with him on urgent business. In the 
early dawn, she put on her hat and started out to mail the 
letter. On the porch she found Rene lying asleep, while Duke 
sat leaning against a pillar very angry and defiant. Where he 
had been, was none of her business, he said; he was his own 
boss, and didn’t propose to be dictated to by anybody in pet- 
ticoats; and if she knew what was good for her she wouldn’t 


192 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


meddle with him; and half lifting-, half dragging Rene, who 
couldn’t be aroused sufficiently to walk, Duke betook himself 
to bed with the bravado of an old sinner. 

Judge Bruce thought Jean’s letter very urgent, or he may 
have had reasons of his own for wanting a private chat; any 
way he took the horses out of the thresh and went to town the 
following Saturday. After a general visit in the big hall, where 
everybody came in to see him, he proposed to take Jean for a 
drive, and she amazed everybody by going off and leaving the 
dinner in a state of uncertainty despite the fact that the judge 
had apparently accepted an invitation to dine. 

Regardless of the forewarning of trouble in Jean’s note, her 
old friend was in fine spirits; indeed he was so bubbling over 
with gay good humor that he failed to notice her worried ex- 
pression. 

“Have you — er heard from Blankville, little woman?” he 
asked, as he gathered up the reins. 

“Only a paper or two; Robert and I don’t correspond, you 
know,” she replied. 

“You don’t!” said the judge, and he whistled in genuine 
surprise. “Do you know,” he continued, “I don’t half like 
that youngster’s running off as he did?” 

“I admire his energy,” said Jean defensively. 

“Energy? Pshaw! Ten to one there’s a girl at the bottom 
of all that energy,” said the wily old diplomat, looking her 
squarely in the eyes. But there are other diplomats besides 
old ones, and Jean replied: 

“I think you don’t do Robert justice; I never saw any one 
who had more noble purposes and aspirations.” 

“That’s it! That’s just the reason it would be too bad to 
have some silly girl come along now, turn his head, and upset 
all our hopes,” said the old man with a great show of grimness. 

“You needn’t fear that. I’m sure Robert has too much good 
sense to let any girl turn his head; besides, he seems to have 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


193 


set his heart on fulfilling yours and his mother’s hopes of him.” 

“He seems to have talked pretty freely to you, little woman!” 

“Yes; I believe he knows he has no better friend than I am.” 

“Then maybe you know whether there’s a girl in the case or 
not!” and inwardly chuckling over this home thrust, the judge 
leaned back so as to make a judicial study of the prisoner’s 
face. 

But Jean was conscious of nothing to conceal except Rob- 
ert’s confidence, so she replied: 

“He talked a good deal of several young ladies, more es- 
pecially of a daughter of one of the professors, but he didn’t 
give me the impression that he is in love with her.” 

“No, she isn’t the girl!” said the inquisitor, and the assertion 
was made with so much significance that one less absorbed 
in her own troubles than Jean would have been struck by it. 
As it was, she said: 

“I only wish mamma had as little reason to be worried about 
her oldest son as you have.” 

“That bov Duke isn’t giving you any trouble, I hope!” said 
her old friend, his expression changing quickly to one of 
anxiety. 

Jean gave him an account of Duke’s conduct from the time 
she and Alice had begged him to go to work ; told of the warn- 
ings her mother had received regarding Rene; of her own dis- 
covery the night her mother was ill, and added: 

“And mamma doesn’t control him at all ; in fact she doesn’t 
try. And if you can’t do something with him, I don’t know 
what is to become of him.” Judge Bruce listened to her with 
increasing gravity and such a worried look as she had never 
before seen him wear. When she finished at last, he brought 
his fist down on his knee with a force that made her start and 
exclaimed: 

“My dear Madam, your mother is a fool! Understand,” he 
continued in quite a judicial tone, as Jean drew back hurt and 


184 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


offended, “understand, I don’t intend any reflection; I am 
simply giving an opinion in which I think any intelligent jury 
would bear me out. Besides, facts you know are stubborn 
things, and if you and I are going to do anything with this case, 
we’ll have to begin by recognizing the facts. In the first place, 
your mother is responsible for all the hardships her children 
have had to undergo ; there was no fortune left for you, to be 
sure, but things should never have come to the pass that they 
have and they would not, but for her.” 

“O Uncle Bruce! What would poor, weak mamma do?” said 
Jean, trying to stem the tide of his wrath. 

“Nothing! Just nothing at all! The only thing she could 
do and the only thing she wouldn’t do. I stand responsible 
before the community for the management of her affairs, yet 
she not only refuses to take my advice but hampers and 
thwarts me at every turn till I don’t know where your poor 
father’s good sense went to when he made his second and third 
marriages anyhow!” The judge’s exasperation rose as he 
proceeded; as he finished he flapped his hat from his head to 
his knee and ran his fingers through his grizzled hair till it 
stood up in a wild shock. 

“In what way would you have managed things differently?” 
Jean asked meekly. 

“Now you are coming down to business!” said her old 
friend, replacing his hat and resuming his ordinary manner. 
“In the first place, I used every argument to keep her from 
taking the home place as her share of the property, as you 
probably remember.” 

Jean did remember with a twinge of conscience as she 
thought of how she felt about it at the time. 

“I wanted her to take money; get a small home with part 
of it, and let me have the rest to run the plantation with. I 
could have paid her a good interest and, what is of vastly more 
importance, could have kept her out of the hands of the Shyr 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


195 


locks — the commission men. But no! she couldn’t do that, be- 
cause, forsooth ! she couldn’t think of taking interest on money 
lent her children!” The judge exploded the last sentence with a 
mixture of scorn and derision that showed that he was about 
to forget to whom he was talking. “Nothing would do her,” 
he went on after a second’s thought, “but she must have the 
old home and bring you children up amid all the surroundings 
and traditions of a way of living that is forever past and gone; 
and if she is now about to reap the natural result of her course, 
I don’t see how on earth I can help it.” 

Both were despondently silent a few minutes; at last Jean 
asked: 

“And is there no remedy? Must we sit still and see our- 
selves go to ruin?” 

“That has just been my position for nearly four years.” 

“Would it do any good to have the money to run the plan- 
tation with now?” 

“Well, yes; it would do good in a measure, but not to the 
extent it would have done four years ago. However, there’s 
no use discussing that; your mother will never consent to sell. 
Of course she will have to give the place up — when she has 
eaten it up and squandered it — but she will not do so before. 
Beard wants the property, but he will have to wait for it.” 

“I hoped there would be something coming in from the 
plantation with which we could pay Mr. Beard,” said Jean wist- 
fully. 

“No, it will be a year yet before we get anything from that; 
you know we’ve had to rebuild and restock the place; there 
was nothing left except the land itself. Have you any idea 
how much you’ve gone in since the mortgage was given?” 

“Between five or six hundred dollars; if I had the passbook 
I could tell you exactly.” 

“Phew! That is living at the rate of twenty-five hundred or 
three thousand dollars a year. At that pace the agony will soon 


196 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


be over; you won’t be kept in suspense long. Do you know 
whether or not the mortgage on the plantation was transferred 
to the home place and included with the rest?” 

It was now Jean’s turn to be surprised. 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “What amount was 
it for?” 

“Fifteen hundred, interest eight per cent.” 

“Then it is hopeless! and since it must come I wish it were 
all over!” Jean exclaimed. 

“It might be the best thing that could happen for the boy; 
it might serve to bring him to his senses.” 

“If something doesn’t happen soon to break up his associa- 
tion with Rene neither that nor anything else will do him 
any good.” 

“Can’t your mother be made to see that?” 

“Mamma has always been partial to Rene; she won’t see 
his faults and never will so long as he treats her with the 
deference and affection he has always shown her. She says 
he is being slandered and that it is her duty to befriend him.” 

“Then she couldn’t be induced to turn him out — to tell him 
he must find other quarters?” 

“Never! The only way to do that would be to turn our- 
selves out.” 

“Not a bad idea that, if it could only be managed. Mr. 
Page from over the river asked me the other day if your 
mother would sell.” 

“Do you think he would buy, if she could be induced to 
sell?” 

“I think he would, though I don’t know certainly.” 

“It occurred to me that I might induce her to sell if it were 
not for the mortgage.” 

“How would you manage it?” asked the judge with renewed 
interest 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


197 


“It would be mean and cruel,” said Jean, a mist spreading 
itself before her eyes as she spoke, “and I wouldn’t do it except 
to save one of the children from ruin. You know mamma 
has come to depend on me a great deal; in fact she looks to 
me for the management of everything, and I believe she would 
consent to part with the place rather than have me leave her, 
if I put The choice before her.” 

“I see!” said Judge Bruce, and after some minutes’ reflection 
he added: “If you can do that, you need have no compunc- 
tions of conscience about it; it is plainly your duty to do it. 
As you see she is bound to lose the place eventually, and the 
way she is managing now it is going to take the boy down 
with it. Yes, you ought by all means to do it.” The judge 
spoke like one arguing a case and ended in a tone of firm 
conviction. 

“Poor mamma!” said Jean, chokingly, “she is nothing but 
a child in business matters.” 

The judge’s eyes sparkled and his lips moved as if he were 
about to speak but he checked himself, and after a few mo- 
ments said gravely: 

“Children with power in their hands are dangerous and 
ought to be controlled.” 

“It will nearly break her heart to part with the place,” Jean 
continued, waveringly. 

“'Better break it over that than over a ruined son!” Judge 
Bruce answered promptly. 

“That is true! Then you would do it if you were in my 
place? It seems so heartless!” 

“I certainly would. I would lay the whole matter plainly 
before her and tell her in just so many words that if she wished 
me to stay with her and continue to — to be the head and front 
of things as I had been, she must consent to sell the place 
and dismiss Rene. You must insist on that point and have it 
thoroughly understood; for with him hanging round it would- 


188 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


n’t better things very much so far as the boy is concerned 
to get rid of the place and the debt.” 

“But there is the mortgage! We can’t do anything on ac- 
count of that.” 

“I have been thinking of that and I believe I can manage 
it. If I find that I can make a better trade by having that 
paid off, I have a little money I can lend your mother for the 
purpose.” 

“You are so good to us!” said Jean gratefully. 

“It is you who are good to me in this instance, child. I 
have never been so worried in my life as I have over this 
business; not that I mind the care and exertion. It is the 
worry of knowing that things are going wrong and I can’t 
help it. It will be a great relief to know that our affairs are 
snug and tight once more, won’t it, little woman?” 

“I can’t realize what the feeling will be; things have been 
going to wreck and ruin ever since I’ve had anything to do 
with them!” 

“But when we get them in ship shape you will hearten up 
and enjoy life like other young people. I know somebody 
who is mightily concerned about your not having any more 
pleasure than you do.” 

“If Duke can only be gotten out of the bad way he is in 
I think I will feel another girl.” . 

“He will do better when he is from under Rene’s influence; 
besides it will help him to get out of his present surroundings. 
It has a demoralizing effect on young people to live in the 
midst of dilapidation.” 

“But what is to become of us when the place is sold?” Jean 
asked. 

“I would say buy or build a nice little cottage, just big 
enough to fit the family, with not a cubic inch for company, 
with half of what is left after the mortgage is paid, and let me 
have the other half to run the place with. With twelve or 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


199 


fifteen hundred dollars in ready money, and no bad luck I 
could make the place bring in a nice little income in another 
year; and then you could quit teaching and get married if 
you want to.” 

“I would certainly like to do the first!” laughed Jean. “But 
that money — if mamma should get her hands on it you would 
never see it again. You don’t know what a faculty she has 
for spending!” 

She had alighted now at the gate and stood looking anx- 
iously up at her old friend. There was a twinkle in his keen 
gray eyes and he said simply: 

“Honey, you don’t know your Uncle Bruce!” 

“And when shall we go about this business?” she asked. 

“At once. I will see Mr. Page to-day and if he talks en- 
couragingly I’ll be back next week. But you needn’t say 
anything about it yet; wait till we get our train laid and are 
ready to put things through with a rush.” 

“I’m very willing to wait, I can tell you. I never dreaded 
anything so much in my life.” Jean leaned against the gate 
and all the color fled from her face as she spoke. Her old 
friend eyed her suspiciously a moment. 

“But you are not going to fail me, little woman?” he said 
anxiously. “Surely, Jean, you are not going to show the 
white feather now, when you have done so much for your 
family, and when we are in such high hopes that another good 
pull will bring them through?” The judge spoke with in- 
creasing feeling, for the face of the girl before him had grown 
woefully despondent. 

“No,” she replied, making an effort to speak firmly, “I’ll 
not fail you; though you have no idea what it means. Still 
as it is the best and the only thing we can do you may depend 
on me.” 

The judge left to set about pitting Mr. Page and Mr. Beard 


200 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


against each other for the purchase of Conway, and Jean went 
to the house feeling like a traitor. 

The following week he came with an offer for the place from 
Mr. Page. He appeared greatly elated and talked as if he had 
discovered a gold mine for the family. He hadn’t dared to 
hope for such a fortunate turn in their affairs, he said, yet it 
had come and just in the right time. Jean seconded his per- 
suasions earnestly, and between them the mother seemed to ac- 
quiesce. At the last, however, she talked of raising the price 
and finally decided to take two or three days to consider the 
matter, promising to write Judge Bruce her decision. 

At the end of the third day, when Jean reminded her of her 
promise, she replied that it was an important matter, and she 
didn’t intend to allow herself to be hurried. When again at 
the end of a week Jean urged her to decide the matter, the 
mother quietly affirmed that she had had no idea of selling from 
the first and that the matter was not of sufficient importance to 
require a letter. 

Then followed a scene that Jean never liked to remember 
as long as she lived. But she allowed neither entreaties nor 
reproaches, storms of tears nor fainting spells to move her. 
The mother took her bed in desperation, but even while nurs- 
ing her, Jean continued to urge her point. Alice sided with the 
mother. 

“It is the last vestige of our family respectability that is left; 
and I say we ought not to give it up till we are put out bodily,' ” 
she declared. 

“If our respectability rests on no better foundation than that, 
the best thing we can do is to wipe it out and begin over,” Jean 
answered; and so they argued till the mother refused to let 
Jean do anything for her and ordered her from the room. 
Poor Jean was too miserable to sleep that night, and spent the 
time in writing her letter of resignation to the school board 
and also one to Dr. Parks, asking his assistance in getting a 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


201 


position. Next morning she went into the mother’s room and 
laid them before her; before the interview was over she found 
she had never known the power there is in bitter words to 
sting, but as she had anticipated, when sure that she meant 
what she said, the mother gave way and was willing to make 
any terms to keep her at home. Judge Bruce had been in town 
several days negotiating with the two bidders and Jean sum- 
moned him promptly. Mr. Beard had made the highest offer 
for the property and in a few hours the papers conveying it to 
him were signed and recorded. 

Jean was really sick when it was all over and under the de- 
pressing influence of her mother’s and Alice’s continued dis- 
pleasure began to feel that life wasn’t after all worth the living. 
But the regular work had to be done and there were besides 
many preparations to be made for the opening of school, 
and these served as a tonic. 

By the terms of the contract, Mrs. Conway was not required 
to give up possession of the house till the first of theyear ; so if 
a house to suit the family could not be found, one would have 
to be built in the four months which intervened. To all in- 
quiries of friends as to what she intended to do, the mother 
replied that Jean and Judge Bruce had taken her business en- 
tirely out of her hands, and she supposed she would not be 
allowed a voice in the matter; in the end, however, she man- 
aged to find voice enough to object to every house that was 
found for sale. Alice, too, objected to buying, as she said, 
anybody’s old misfit house, and so it was determined to build. 

Mr. Beard proposed to Mrs. Conway that they should unite 
in extending a street where the property he had bought joined 
some she still retained; Judge Bruce approved of the plan, 
and when it was done, the two girls selected a pretty site on 
their side for the new home. And when the bright fall days 
set in, they began to watch the house of new hope go up. 

So far all Jean’s and Judge Bruce’s plans worked beautifully; 


202 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


but there was one part of her contract which the mother flatly 
refused to cany out for a while; it was the part relating to 
Rene. He had either been told what was proposed by Duke 
or else suspected something from the changes in preparation; 
any way he took the situation into his own hands, and having 
secured a place to clerk in one of the stores, went to his step- 
mother with a voluntary confession of his bad conduct and the 
story of his reform. He complained bitterly of his New Or- 
leans relatives, saying they had never helped him in the least 
and were all down on him. But he was done with the follies 
of youth and proposed to show the world that there was the 
making of a man in him; all he asked was a living chance. He 
knew he would have to begin in the most humble way; but he 
was not proud; he was willing to do anything to show the 
world that he was really a reformed man. He came to his step- 
mother with all this because she was the only one who had 
shown him any affection, and he was sure she would give him 
the sympathy and encouragement a skeptical and heartless 
world denied. He didn’t propose to sponge on her generosity, 
but would gladly pay board if she was willing that her house 
should be to him what he needed above all things, a refuge 
from temptation. 

Mrs. Conway was deeply moved by all this and became so 
anxious to participate in the noble work of reforming her step- 
son that she told him to consider her house his home from that 
day forth, and never again to mention the subject of compen- 
sation to her. 

Under this new development of the case, Jean felt herself 
powerless to do anything except collect the despised compen- 
sation, and this she determined to do promptly and regularly. 
But before the time came, Rene had shown the cloven foot 
again, and this time in such a way as to cut himself off from 
even his stepmother’s lenient sympathy. 

He had been ill, as they supposed, and confined to his 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


203 


room about a week when there came a night of terror for them. 
A frantic maniac, he roamed through the house begging, pray- 
ing, and pounding at the doors behind which they had barri- 
caded themselves, and were cowering in terror. When dawn 
came to their relief at last, Duke got out of a window and went 
for help; Rene was secured and sent to a place of safety 
where Dr. Bardwell attended on him for some time. When he 
was well enough to travel, Judge Bruce sent him off to the 
plantation to reform out of the way of temptation. 

But the happenings that fall were not all of a depressing 
character; one bright September day there was great rejoicing, 
caused by the arrival of Noona. Jim and her youngest child 
had died during the summer and with her one remaining child 
she came and announced that she had “come home to stay.” 
To Jean’s sorrowful explanation that they were unable to 'hire 
her, she replied that she understood all that, but wanted to 
come any way; her one great desire was to have her boy well 
taught, and if Jean would teach him, she would be only too 
glad to share the fortunes of the family once more. So it was 
arranged to have a house built for her on the new place, and 
she became one of them again. Her coming afforded Jean 
much needed relief from both care and work; for she knew 
just how to do every thing and all her life had been trusted 
like any other member of the family. Under her care and 
sympathy, the mother began to rally from her despondency 
and the house assumed a cheerfulness that Jean’s divided 
strength had not been able to infuse into it. 

In anticipation of the move ahead of them, Noona and Jean 
began a shaking-up of the dry bones at Conway. It was found 
that some of the carpets could be turned, others could have the 
ragged places cut out and be pieced so the flowers would match 
and still be large enough for the new rooms; and with a good 
deal of rubbing and a little varnish, it was astonishing how new 
the old furniture could be made to look. They consulted and 


204 


FLANKING THE MOTHER’S POSITION 


planned, and contrived together during Jean’s leisure and 
Noona made her needle and her rubbing cloth fly during the 
afternoons. 

Alice didn’t take much interest in these proceedings. She 
hadn’t gotten reconciled to the loss of the home, though to 
console her, Judge Bruce had arranged for her to take lessons 
in instrumental and vocal music. Noona’s coming had made 
it possible for the young girl to practice to her heart’s content 
without feeling that the mother was being neglected and the 
friends who came in were beginning to tell of many enthusias- 
tic things the old professor was saying about her voice. 


CHAPTER XVII 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE? 



* 


HE Conways ate their Christmas 
dinner that year like the Isre- 
alites in the land of Egypt, all 
packed and ready to move, and 
the next day they quitted their 
house of bondage to old ideas 
and traditions forever. 

It had been decided in con- 
sultation that Jean should re- 
ceive the furniture at the new 
house and have it placed as 
Noona sent it over, and that 
Alice and the mother should 
spend the day with Mrs. Mat- 
thews to be out of the way, while Judge Bruce, as commander 
in chief, should circulate among them all and keep everybody 
straight. 

Wishing to spare herself the sight of her mother’s and Alice’s 
grief, Jean took Kit and Archie and left immediately after 
breakfast. As she looked back from the gate, blinding tears 
shut the old home from her view and made her walk to the 
new in an undignified wabble. She had not loved the old place 
the less because she felt the sternness of pressing necessities 
and could appreciate the gravity of impending danger; though 
Alice and the mother had said some hard things in the heat of 
anger about her lack of affection and family pride. But she 

( 205 ) 


206 




WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 

had no sooner begun to help Archie and Kit gather chips and 
shavings and build fires in the new chimneys, than she began 
to be inspired with new hope and cheerfulness. To be out of 
debt and to have no longer a feeling of concealment and de- 
ception towards her friends and neighbors was like a new 
existence ; she had not realized this amid the old surroundings, 
but with clean new walls about her it became a glorious reality. 

It was absorbing work, this putting down of carpets that 
had no holes or bare places showing the facing, trying furniture 
here and there in new rooms, and watching effects as the put- 
ting up of curtains softened the lights. Jean was astonished 
when she found that the morning had flown, and the slipping 
away of the short afternoon brought the mother and Alice. 
The largest and prettiest room in the house had been built 
especially for the mother; in the eastern end, overlooking the 
pine covered slope, was a bay window, shut off from the room 
by a glass door; and here Jean had arranged the plants. The 
walls had been prettily papered, an extravagance not indulged 
in elsewhere in the house, and Jean had put down the brightest 
carpet and hung the best curtains in it. It was in order, look- 
ing cheery and bright in the firelight, and Jean met her mother 
with some hope of giving her a pleasant surprise. But her 
hopes were dashed when she said, taking the chair set for her 
without looking about: 

“Well, Jean, you have moved us, and I hope you are satis- 
fied now” 

“O Jean, how pretty the little green window is! Mamma, 
do look!” interposed Alice, with a swift glance at Jean’s tired, 
disappointed face. 

“It doesn’t begin to compare with the conservatory I had 
at Conway,” was the listless, chilling reply. 

“Why, mamma! you know there hasn’t been a sprig of a 
plant nor a pane of glass in our old conservatory for years,” 
said Alice. 



WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


207 


“Oh! I shall never think of my old home as it has been in its 
years of decline ; it will always come back to me as it was in its 
palmy days,” said the mother mournfully, and tired as she was, 
Jean had to go outside to hide an exasperated smile. 

After that Alice tried to be considerate, and what she could- 
n’t praise she made suggestions about, and soon got interested 
enough to go to work to help carry out her own ideas. Noona 
was delighted with the convenience of things in her depart- 
ment, and declared that now she could do twice as much work 
as in the old way. In a few days everything was in shape, and 
the household arrangements were running with a neatness and 
smoothness that were inspiring. 

But the new home was not without its drawback even in 
Jean’s partial eyes. The wild grass that had covered the 
ground had been trodden down by the workmen and heaps of 
red mud thrown up in digging the well were scattered about 
the yard, which looked painfully bare and unhomelike. The 
new street was without pavement or sidewalks, and after the 
first rain was a bog of slush. Archie laid some bricks at inter- 
vals of a step through it, but pretty soon the only indication of 
where they had been placed was a little puddle of muddy water 
above each. The young Conways waded back and forth 
through it regularly, but Mrs. Matthews and Callie in their 
carriages were the only friends who penetrated the solitude of 
the new street during the bleak wintry days. 

When the spring opened, Jean entered into a new project. 
Old Si had been so successful with the garden the year before 
that she determined to go into the vegetable business herself. 
After a long talk with Judge Bruce she hired the old man, and 
set him to work; he understood his business so well that he 
had only to be supplied with seeds and implements and let 
alone. He could raise vegetables almost as if by magic, but 
Jean had discovered that he knew little about disposing of 
them, and she determined to employ Archie’s business tact for 


208 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


that. Judge Bruce lent her a horse and later bought her a 
second-hand wagon. 

When the garden had been gotten under way, old Si found 
time to plow and sod the yard, and when Jean began to set 
out what flowers Mrs. Matthews and Mrs. Bruce could spare 
to her, things began to look so much more homelike and cheer- 
ful that everybody heartened up and began to take more inter- 
est. Even Duke, though he still refused to go to school or get 
employment, became more accommodating, and now and then 
did little things about the place cheerfully. Old Bet, whom 
much persuasion had at last induced to take up her abode at 
the new place, became so enthused that she stole a nest behind 
a pile of boards against the fence and one morning came off 
with a family, apparently as much to her own surprise as to that 
of everybody else. She soon repented of her rashness, how- 
ever; for after scratching herself almost to a shadow in vain 
attempts to satisfy their ravenous appetites, she suddenly threw 
up the job and eloped. And not until satisfied that the young- 
sters had transferred their affections to Archie and would 
make no farther demands upon her, could she be induced to 
return and take up the less exacting task of producing an egg 
for the mother’s breakfast. 

Alice was the only exception to the returning cheerfulness; 
a strange change was coming over her; she was not the Alice of 
the winter before, who had borne privation so bravely and had 
lightened the burden so for the rest by her jokes and fun. 
Although she now had what then seemed the dearest wish of 
her heart, the opportunity to cultivate her voice, and was re- 
lieved of the hard work she disliked so much, she was discon- 
tented and unhappy. Alice herself attributed it to the loss of 
the old home. At first Jean was inclined to think it the effect 
of her association with Elise; for she herself knew the force of 
Elise’s constant disparagements of everything American, and 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


209 


her delightful pictures of life across the water. At other times 
she attributed it to Mrs. Matthews’ constant visits. 

Annie had gone on to visit Louis just before Christmas and 
being lonely at home, Mrs. Matthews came over very often, 
and her letters from Annie were her constant topic. 

“O Jean!” Alice would say wistfully, when the former came 
home from school, “Mrs. Matthews has just left. I wish you 
had gotten here in time to hear Annie’s letter! Such gorge- 
ousness! She’s living at a hotel where even the halls are car- 
peted in velvet so thick that you can’t hear your own foot- 
fall ; and the mirrors in the parlors are as large as bed spreads.” 

“Well,” Jean would say soothingly, “Annie will be a wise 
girl if the contrast doesn’t make her discontented when she 
gets home.”’ 

And again in a few days there would be a conversation like 
this. 

“Mrs. Matthews says, Jean, that Annie is just having every- 
thing that heart could wish.” 

“I am glad that Annie is so easily satisfied; some people 
could spend a million and not be contented.” 

“She goes to some kind of entertainment nearly every night 
of her life; last week she went to the theatre three times. She’s 
seen Booth and McCullough and next month she’s going to 
hear Patti sing. Oh! if I could only hear Patti I believe I 
could learn to sing, too. And just think! Louis won’t let her 
wear any of the dresses she carried away from here because 
they are not stylish enough; he’s having her an entire set of 
new ones made. Think of laying aside that lovely plum silk! 
And all of his friends are just showering attentions on her.” 

“That is all very nice if Annie doesn’t wear herself out and 
lose her beauty by it. But we won’t let it worry us; we won’t 
make ourselves unhappy by being envious!” Jean would an- 
swer cheerfully. 


210 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


“But I don’t see why things are so uneavenly divided!” Alice 
would say. 

“Annie is having her good time now; maybe ours will come 
after a while. Anyway we won’t be ungrateful when we are so 
much better off than we were last year.” 

“But I don’t want to wait!” Alice would say, with all the 
brightness gone out of her pretty face. 

Callie had left off going to school that winter and she and 
Alice had continued to receive visits from the young men, 
principally the drummers who came to town. During the bad 
weather all the visiting had been done at Callie’s, who either 
sent or came for Alice when their friends were in town. Alice 
would often stay two or three days at the Beards’, practicing 
and going to her music lessons just as she did at home. Jean 
remonstrated, but Alice only replied: 

“Oh! I don’t visit the Beards. I visit Callie and I know her.” 

“But the Beards don’t look at it that way and they’ll make 
you feel the obligation you are laying yourself under some 
day.” 

“Oh! if it is the obligation you are worrying about, I can 
tell you all that is on their side, not mine. Why, Callie’s in- 
timacy with me has been their chief stepping-stone into good 
society, and they know that as well as I do; besides, who 
would entertain those young men for them if I didn’t? Callie 
couldn’t do it to save her life, though she’s a good hearted girl. 
I wish you wouldn’t make it a rule to go to croaking, Jean, 
every time I have an opportunity to have a little pleasure like 
other girls; it destroys your influence with me. I’ve got sense 
enough to manage my own affairs and just as much pride and 
self-respect as you. have, if you would only give me credit for 
it.” And Alice went on ripping up Jean’s blue suit of the 
previous winter to make herself a riding habit. In a few days 
she was out on Judge Bruce’s horse and a saddle borrowed 
from Mrs. Matthews cantering about town in the gayest of 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


211 


spirits with Callie whose awkwardness served as a good foil 
for her own graceful riding. 

It was a sad trial to all of them when Mr. Beard began over- 
hauling the old home. One morning Alice came home riding 
at a gallop, her cap in her hand and her face deathly pale. 

“What is the matter?” cried Jean, running out as she dis- 
mounted. 

“They are cutting down the trees at Conway!” she answered, 
and covering her face with her hands she rushed into the house. 
All that day she and the mother lay in their room listening 
to the sound of axes, which seemed to echo in their very hearts 
and crying out in grief whenever some old friend of a tr'ee fell 
with a crash; and Jean sat outside feeling like a murderer. 

When the new street became again passable, the young 
people of Alice’s set began to frequent the new home and make 
the house more cheerful for the mother. Mr. Winn and Mr. 
Smith came very often when they were in town, and when 
away were constantly sending Alice new songs, which she took 
great pains in learning, and sang to the delight of all who 
heard her. Alice was always as gay as a lark in company, but 
Jean noticed that she was constantly alluding to fine old fam- 
ilies, ancestral homes and the like; yet when Jean ventured a 
sly hint about the Mitchell girls, she was highly offended. 

Alice opposed the market garden, too ; and the first day when 
Jean would have her own way and put Archie up with Jim to 
go out with a wagonful of early vegetables, Alice went to bed 
indisposed and refused to speak to Jean all day; nor would she 
be mollified when Jean gave her the proceeds of the sale for a 
new hat. But poor Alice’s pride received its crowning blow a 
few weeks later and there was a family tempest raised by it. 

On going home one day, Jean found Archie standing in the 
middle of the floor white to the lips and his eyes flashing fire, 
while Alice leaned against the mantle in a flood of tears that 
kept her mopping her face with an already soaked handker- 


212 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


chief. Both were talking vehemently, while the mother lay 
back in her chair pale and agitated. 

“O Jean!” she cried appealingly, “do stop them! Oh, my 
children will be the death of me!” 

“What does all this mean?” Jean asked, laying a hand on 
Archie’s shoulder in instinctive sympathy. Both began to 
speak at once, but Alice made herself heard best. 

“Why, what do you think he did? While I was talking to 
Mr. Winn on the street this morning that little rascal marched 
up and told me to come on home, it was time for him to be out 
with the vegetables! I’d just rather st — st — starve than have 
everybody know about that old wa — wagon anyhow. But I’ll 
teach you to meddle with me, you little wretch!” and Alice’s 
tears flowed afresh. 

“I wasn’t meddling with you! You had no business to be 
keeping the horse out that late, and I’ll tell you so every time!” 
Archie answered hotly. 

“I’m going to make Duke whip you for it, as sure as I live!” 
Alice replied in a voice trembling with anger. 

“If Duke lays his hands on me, I’ll kill him!” Archie re- 
turned m a white heat of passion painful to see. 

Jean had been vainly trying to stop them and now she 
dragged Archie off, hoping to reason him into an apologetic 
mood, while the mother brought Alice to a frame of mind 
where peace could be made between them. But Archie was 
aroused to a pitch that she had never before seen his gentle 
nature reach; he would make no promises and when Jean tried 
to lock him up in her room to keep him out of harm’s way, he 
refused to submit. 

“No, Jean,” he declared, “I’m not going to run or hide if I 
die for it! Duke’s got no business bossing it over me and I’m 
not going to begin knocking under to him.” 

The mother failed to make any impression on Alice, too, 
and Jean looked forward to Duke’s coming that evening with 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


213 


a dread she found it hard to conceal. Alice had a great deal of 
influence over him, and it would be in keeping with the man- 
nish airs he had assumed of late for him to attempt to whip the 
younger brother; on the other hand there was no mistaking 
the passionate determination in Archie’s delicate face. The 
terror of a fight between brothers and the shame of exposure 
had never occurred to her before, and Jean felt sick and faint 
over the prospect of a life filled with such conflicts. 

It was an anxious group that gathered about Duke when he 
came at last. Alice told her grievance with tearful impor- 
tunity, while the offender sat defiantly indifferent and the rest 
waited ready to take his part. 

“And what did he do — my Lord de Baconsides? Did he 
faint at the mention of vegetables?” laughed Duke, when he 
caught the meaning of Alice’s complaint. “Why, Arch! how 
could you be so inconsiderate, so cruel as to speak of such 
things as onions in the presence of a grocery drummer? Think 
what might have happened if you had said codfish or lim- 
burger cheese!” and*Duke laughed uproariously over this op- 
portunity to “get even” with Alice. Alice flew out in a tempest, 
and he added seriously: 

“A1 isn’t the same girl since she’s been associating with that 
crowd of drummers, and I wish, Mother, you’d put a stop to 
the whole business.” 

“Alice has her faults, but I’m sure she will come out all 
right,” said the mother soothingly and the threatened storm 
had passed. 

But in spite of Alice’s opposition the garden proved a great 
boon . During the winter Jean had found it a hard matter 
to make her salary girdle the family necessities even with her 
own and Noona’s good management and the help of things 
laid in during the mother’s extravagant reign. But some weeks 
before the dreaded summer hiatus she found that the garden 
had reimbursed her for all outlays except the wagon, and was 


214 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


bringing in a nice little sum; which was a satisfaction that: 
outweighed all wounded family pride. 

Annie Matthews came home late in the spring and Alice 
began to spend a great deal of the time she wasn’t at the 
Beards’ with her. Annie was greatly improved; she was more 
animated and had acquired a stylishness that nobody but a city 
modiste can give. She had a wardrobe that was both the de- 
light and the despair of all the girls in town, and could talk of 
nothing but the pleasures of city life. She brought the news 
of Louis’s engagement to the daughter of the senior partner of 
his firm, and was full of that young lady’s attractions, her 
beauty, her diamonds, her accomplishments, and the magnifi- 
cent style in which the family lived. All this Alice heard in 
detail during her daily visits and rehearsed at night to Jean, 
with face and tone growing more and more discontented. 

On going home one evening, Jean found her busy ripping 
to pieces the treasured moire evening dress, and asked: 

“What are you doing that for?” 

“Why haven’t you heard? All the girls are wild about it. 
We are all going to the opening of Hazel Dell springs. Mr. 
Beard has chartered a car and invited all the boys and girls; 
he sent you an invitation by me, but I told him we couldn’t 
both leave mamma. I knew you wouldn’t go, but I hated to 
tell him that. It’s going to be grand, and you’d have lots of 
fun if you would go.” 

“It will be very expensive, will it not?” 

“Oh, Mr. Beard is going to bear all the expenses. It’s his 
entertainment so far as that is concerned.” 

“Then I wouldn’t go if I were you, Alice — ” Jean began; 
but Alice interrupted her with, 

“It’s no use to begin that strain again, Jean; I know all you 
are going to say, and it won’t do any good. Because you are 
contented to mope around here and never have any fun is no 
reason that I should be. If I can’t have what I ought to have 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


215 


and what I would like to have in this world, I’m going to take 
what I can get. I’m going, Mr. Beard or no Mr. Beard! And 
Oh, Jean! Won’t you help me with this?” 

“I thought you said that was to be kept for a wedding oc- 
casion,” Jean said. 

“It is needed now, if it ever will be!” Alice answered in a 
tone of pathetic gravity, and added: “If you don’t help me, I’ll 
make a mess of it, I know!” 

Knowing that it was useless to argue, Jean set to work to 
help. It was no small undertaking to attempt to make an 
evening dress that would suit Alice out of an old one, and Jean 
had her hands full. Always hard to please, Alice now seemed 
feverishly discontented with everything; she didn’t want the 
dress made, the same way two hours in succession, and even 
wanted to change it when it was half done. She borrowed a 
dozen things from Callie and Annie, only to return them after 
trying in vain to get the effect she wanted. It took all Jean’s 
patience, together with the sympathy she felt on account of the 
privations that had borne so hard on them both, to enable her 
to get through with it; but the dress was done at last in good 
time. At the last trying on, which was held at night, with all 
the lamps burning and' Mamma looking admiringly on, while 
Jean, on her knees, straightened out a crease here or fastened 
a fold there, Alice pronounced it a success. She had held 
obstinately to her determination to appear as a young lady in 
decollete style and with a train, but the mother and Jean had 
prevailed against such exaggerated style. 

“You and mamma are right, Jean,” she said, with rising 
color and brightening eyes, as she turned this way and that to 
see the effect of the rich old ivory silks against the tender pink 
and white tints that might have served Rubens for a model, 
“I don’t need tulle and lace now. I’m one in a thousand who 
can afford to dress plainly, and I’ll take advantage of it while 


216 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


I’m young; tulle and all that will come in when I’m old and 
wrinkled.” 

The effect on Alice was marvelous; her spirits rose to ex- 
citement, and with a face that needed no ornament to set off 
its beauty, she gathered up her train and skipped out to show 
herself to Duke and Noona. 

But five minutes later when Jean was helping her to take 
the dress off, so as not to disturb the pins which showed where 
an additional stitch or two had to be taken, she said, with a 
face from which all the brightness had fled: 

“I never have a whole decent outfit at once ; if I have genteel 
shoes my gloves are sure to be shabby, and so it goes. Now, 
I have this lovely dress to wear in the evening, but I’ve got to 
travel in a done-up muslin, and that is too tacky for anybody 
but one of the Mitchell girls.” 

“I’m sorry, dear; I do the best I can, but it is hard with so 
many to care for,” Jean answered, sadly. 

“Oh, I’m not reflecting on you. It’s just my wretched, 
despicable lot!” Alice replied with no abatement of the dis- 
content in her tone. Jean said nothing, but went to the 
bureau and returned with a piece of light gray goods, which 
she had bought between seasons, and laid away for her one 
fall dress. 

“You can have this for a traveling dress, if it will do; we’ll 
have time to make it by working at night!” she said, laying 
it in Alice’s lap. 

“I didn’t mean to beg, and I’m not going to be so mean as 
to take all you’ve got. What will you do without it in the 
fall?” 

“Oh, I’ll manage to get along some way. If you’ll make 
the sham skirt, and decide on the style in the morning, I’ll try 
to get home in time to cut and fit it. I intended trimming it 
with a little black velvet, and if you think you will like it that 
way, I’ll get the velvet on my way home.” 



< < 


You can have this for a traveling dress ” said Jean . 









































V 




< 


a 


- 


» 


• . 




/ 


♦ 




♦ 









































* 




* 










» 























WIIAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


217 


“You are good to me, Jean,” said the younger sister, as she 
sat with a face softening and glowing with better feeling. 
“What makes you so awfully good to me of late?” she con- 
tinued, taking the dress over to the mirror and trying a fold 
up by her face. 

“I suppose one reason is that I am sorry for you,” Jean said 
gravely. 

Alice faced about in an instant, and her chin went up sev- 
eral degrees. 

“And pray why should you be sorry for me? I know it 
sounds awfully conceited in me to say it,” she continued, in a 
matter of fact way, “but I have the advantage of you in every 
way. You are little and insignificant, and nobody that didn’t 
love you would think of calling you even pretty; while I have 
a face and figure that would attract attention in any crowd. 
Although I am nearly a head taller than you, I can wear your 
shoes and gloves, and my hands and feet are a great deal bet- 
ter shaped than yours. Your hair is so uneven that it always 
looks tousled and you have to wear papers a week to curl 
your bangs, while I can do anything I want to with mine, even 
if it is red. You can’t play well enough to accompany what 
little voice you have got without your notes, while I can play 
anything I hear, and Professor says if my voice don’t make 
my fortune it will be my own fault. It’s true you’ve got the 
most brains, and a better education, but they don’t do you 
very much good; you get confused and embarrassed before 
even such a simpleton as Tip Smith. But I am at my best in 
a crowd, and the smartest men in town listen when I talk, even 
if I didn’t graduate. I don’t say all this to make you feel bad, 
Jean,” she added in a cold-blooded way, “but to show you how 
misplaced your pity is.” 

rt No, dear, it isn’t misplaced;” Jean answered earnestly, “for 
with all these good gifts you are not happy; you don’t love the 
Giver and accept cheerfully the lot He has given you.” 


218 WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


A defiant look came into Alice’s eyes, and she said: 

“No! I am not one of those cringing, cowardly creatures 
that lick the hand that strikes them!” 

“The hand that strikes them?” Jean echoed in astonishment. 

“Yes, that’s what I said. I' don’t think it was good to give 
me all these things and the tastes and instincts of a lady, and 
take away my birthright.” 

“O, Alice! You talk so foolishly — so recklessly! Have you 
any right to more than your Maker sees fit to give you?” 

“Yes, I have! My father made a fortune and left it for me, 
and it wasn’t right to take it from me!” 

“Hush! Hush! You terrify me!” said the older sister, put- 
ting up her hands in a shocked way. But Alice went on reck- 
lessly. 

“Besides, I didn’t ask to be created, and if God chose to do 
it He ought to give me what will make me happy. You 
needn’t look so frightened, Jean, and shrink from me as if I 
were something contaminating; I have never been such a 
coward as to be afraid to say what I think; not even God can 
accuse me of that. Besides, you brought it on yourself.” 

“He has given you what will make you happy in the highest, 
best sense, if you would only accept His ways,” Jean said 
faintly. 

“Oh, I’m no child! I know what will make me happy, and 
if God wants me to love Him, He ought to give me those 
things. There’s -one thing certain, He’ll never reduce me to 
subjection this way!” 

“Well, dont’ say anything more, please. I’m sorry that I 
made you give expression to such wicked, rebellious feelings. 
Try and struggle against them, won’t you, dear? For my 
sake, if for no other,” Jean pleaded. 

“Well, I ought to for your sake, any way; for you certainly 
are a good sister,” Alice replied in a softened mood, and they 
dropped the unpleasant subject. 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


219 


When the older sister saw the younger one off on her trip 
the next Friday morning it was with something of motherly 
pride. The gray dress had turned out to be a success, too; 
and with a gray straw turban trimmed with a few folds of vel- 
vet left from the dress, Alice’s costume was so stylish as to 
call forth praises from even so critical an authority as Annie. 
It was becoming, too, as could be plainly seen by the glances 
turned upon Alice as the bus containing her particular set 
drove up. Alice herself was in the gayest of spirits, and the 
remembrance of her sparkling face cheered Jean all day. 

When night settled down upon the home nest that evening 
it brought a feeling of loneliness ; never before had one of the 
brood been so far away, and Alice’s place proved to be very 
big, indeed, now that it was empty. The evening was a long one, 
and Jean and the mother had finished their chat and were sit- 
ting in silence when a man’s figure entered the gate and 
Robert Bruce came up. 

‘‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Robert; your father said 
you wouldn’t arrive till to-morrow,” Mrs. Conway said, when 
the greetings were over. 

“I must plead guilty to a little weakness in this instance, 
Mrs. Conway. As much as I’ve been away from home, I’ve 
never gotten over being homesick. I stood it pretty well this 
time till the last few days, and then I pined so for the sight of 
some faces, that I left a day before the regular time.” 

“Your weakness does you credit; it’s a pity ail young men 
are not so much attached to their parents,” the mother replied, 
and though Robert was conscious of a sneaking feeling, he 
didn’t disclaim the compliment. 

The conversation drifted to other topics, and Mrs. Conway 
talked quite animatedly for a while; but she was very much a 
creature of habit, and when she heard Noona stirring around 
in her room, she rose saying: 

“I shall have to ask you to excuse me, Robert; I’m delighted 


220 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


to see you again and sorry to leave you, but I really haven’t 
been very well of late, and sleep seems to do me more good 
than anything else. Let Jean entertain you as long as you 
like; she’s a perfect owl, and will be glad to have some one to 
talk to.” 

Some people would have had their suspicions aroused by 
the alacrity with which Robert hastened to accept the excuse, 
but Mrs. 'Conway only felt the more compunction for leaving 
such agreeable company. 

“Really, now, Robert; you won’t feel hurt with me?” she 
asked, coming back from the hall. “If I thought so I would 
rather sit up all night. There is nothing that would induce 
me to wound the feelings of one of your father’s children.” 

Then Robert, the sly fellow, proceeded to give a lecture on 
the necessity of sleep when the system is below par, and dwelt 
particularly on the superior virtue of sleep taken in the early 
part of the night; and the mother went to her room at last 
feeling that she had made a martyr of herself for the sake of 
her health. 

“Take this rocking chair, Jean!” Robert said when the door 
closed on the mother. “Wait, let me move it a little! It is 
such a pleasure to see you again!” He added, as Jean sat 
down, with her face in the soft light from the window where 
his manoeuver had placed her. She said nothing, but leaned 
back out of the light, while he added a little anxiously, “But 
you look thin; are you well?” 

“Yes, I am well, but tired. My work has been heavy this 
year; however, I shall have my rest in another week,” she 
answered. 

“I was guilty of a fib just now, Jean. I told your mother 
I pined for the sight of some faces; I should have said ‘a 
face.’ ” 

“The face of the- best little woman, perhaps,” Jean said, de- 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


221 


termined not to be so foolish as to avoid the confidence of an 
old friend. 

“Yes,” said Robert; and after a pause he added, “And now 
that I have the opportunity to see her she hides from me by 
leaning back in the dark.” And before Jean could realize 
how much like love-making this sounded, he leaned slightly 
forward over the arm of her chair, and said earnestly: 

“I came to-night to get the opportunity to tell you that I 
love you with all my heart, and to ask you to try to love me 
in return.” 

Jean’s chair suddenly stopped its gentle rocking as if its 
occupant had caught her breath, and after a moment she 
asked: 

“Are you sure?” 

“Perfectly sure; and have been for nearly a year. I made 
the discovery myself the day you came so near losing your 
life in saving your sister’s; and if you had been much longer 
in coming back to consciousness, the others would have found 
it out, too.” 

“And did you intend for me to understand that the morning 
you told me about the best little woman in the world?” 

“I hoped that you would; I was anxious to tell you, but 
felt that I had no right to till I had gained some foothold in 
the world. But the night I bade you good-bye on the steps I 
saw that you didn’t suspect the truth, and I grew wretchedly 
uneasy for fear some one else would get ahead of me.” 

There was nothing of the bashful, stammering lover about 
Robert; he talked in a straightforward, manly way, and his 
handsome, ardent face held well up in the light from the win- 
dow, attested the strength of his feelings. He told Jean how 
his father had discovered his secret on the morning of his de- 
parture, and what a time he had getting the judge to promise 
not to take the matter into his own hands. This threw a new 
light on the judge’s conversation with her, and Jean told what 


222 WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 

a time she had had trying to keep his secret as she thought. 
Both laughed, and two happier voices never floated out on a 
sweet June night. Then Robert grew very serious again. 

He had not intended to tell her till he had established him- 
self in his profession and could ask her to marry him at once, 
but he had been encouraged to speak by what she said that 
last day in camp, and latterly had found suspense so unbear- 
able that he couldn’t refrain from speaking any longer. He 
didn’t ask her to bind herself by any promises; for the battle of 
life was yet before him and he must see if his boat would float 
— would be able to weather the gale — before he could ask her 
to embark with him. But he wanted her to understand his 
feelings toward her, and to give him the opportunity to dem- 
onstrate how sincere and devoted his love was. 

Jean listened quietly, with her face still in the dark, only her 
white draped figure visible as it was outlined against the dark 
chair. When he rose to go, Robert said wistfully: • . 

“Go to the gate with me, won’t you?” And out in the 
moonlight he stood and chatted for half an hour longer. 

“Oh, how I hate to go!” he said, laughing a little ruefully, 
at last. “Can’t you give me some little word of encouragement, 
to help me off, sweetheart? There, now! I haven’t any right 
to call you that, have I? I have thought of you so much by 
that name, however, that I used it without thinking. But 
some little word — that at least you will think of me oftener 
than you have! Can’t you give me that?” 

“I don’t know,” Jean said, as a troubled look, the first that 
had come to her all evening, swept over her face. “The truth 
is, I am so bound up in responsibilities that — that I too, must 
see if the boat will float before I say anything— except that I 
certainly shall think of what you have said.” 

“Well, I ought not to expect more — I ought to be satisfied. 
Good-bye! God bless you!” and with a hearty hand-shake he 
was gone. 


WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER WITH ALICE 


223 


Jean walked slowly back to the house through the radiant 
night, wondering that she had never before known how beauti- 
ful the world was. Oh! It was sweet to be loved! She sat 
down in the rocking-chair, and covering her face with her 
hands, thought it all over again, every word and tone and look 
of her handsome, manly lover. 

At the same time, Robert strode through the same night, 
with something curiously resembling a great big pain in the 
region where he had experienced such wild, joyous flutterings, 
only a few minutes before. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


POOR ALICE 

HEN Jean awoke next 
morning she was sur- 
prised to find long level 
rays of sunshine stealing 
in through the blinds. 
Alice was to have come 
home at three o’clock and 
she was to have let her 
in. She got up and 
looked at the clock; it 
was more than two hours 
past the time and there 
was no sign of Alice. It 
might be that the mother 
had waked and let her in 
and she had gone to bed 
in the mother’s room to keep from being disturbed by Jean’s 
early rising; and with this thought Jean sat down on the side 
of the bed and let the recollection of her happiness sweep 
over her. 

But it wouldn’t do to sit here day-dreaming, she thought; 
and getting up she crept softly into the mother’s room. But 
there was no sign of Alice there; she must have gone home 
with Callie or Annie! And she ought to have known that 
the mother would be disturbed by her not coming! Darken- 

( 224 ) 



POOR ALICE 


225 


ing the room so that the mother could sleep late, Jean went 
into the dining-room, whose windows overlooked the back- 
yard and gave a partial view of the railroad station. Noona 
was not astir yet, but there were a great many people stand- 
ing about the station and several hacks were waiting near. 

Going back to her room Jean dressed quickly and putting 
on her hat went out, closing the door softly. Having wakened 
Noona and cautioned her not to let the mother be aroused 
and not to tell her that Alice had not come when she did 
awake, she walked over to the street leading to the depot 
intending to find out from the hack drivers which of her 
friends Alice had gone home with. 

There was always a good deal of passing on this street, but 
that morning there seemed to be more than usual. The first 
person Jean put her question to was Uncle Peter, an old 
darkie who had bought the old Conway carriage in its second 
stage of dilapidation and was running it as a public hack. 

“Law, Mistiss!” said the old man reining up sharply, “ain’t 
you done hearn dat dey done got wrecked — all dem folks of 
ourn what lef here so gaily yistiddy morning? I jes been 
to kyar Miss Matthews to de depot and she’s more like a 
crazy ooman dan a well un!” 

All the blood in Jean’s body seemed to surge back upon 
her heart, which throbbed and ached as if it would suffocate 
her. The old man saw the terror in her face and scrambling 
down from his box he opened the door of his carriage saying: 

“Git in, Mistiss an set down; you looks like you was ’bout 
to drap. I hope ter goodness you ain’t got nobody ’mongst 
’em!” 

“Yes, Alice!” Jean answered, as she stumbled in and drop- 
ped tremblingly upon the ragged cushions that had been hers 
in the better days of both. “But there wasn’t anybody killed? 
Oh, say there wasn’t anybody killed!” she cried imploringly. 

“Now, Mistiss Honey! dat depot is dat packed wid folks 


226 


POOR ALICE 


dat you kin hear anything an yit you can’t put no penance 
in anything you does hear. But I boun you hit ain’t nigh so 
bad as dey makes out. Don’t you forgit dat! Ef you wants 
to I’ll drive you down dere an maybe we kin find Miss Mat- 
thews; I lay she’ll git de right news ef anybody does!” 

“Then go on quickly,” Jean said. 

“All right, Mistiss, and hit shan’t cost you a cent! dat hit 
shan’t!” said Uncle Peter consolingly, as he hurried into his 
seat. 

Though Jean knew that the old darkie was urging his two 
frames of horses and they were raising clouds of dust by their 
unusual speed, it seemed an interminable time before he flung 
open the door beside the platform. She had mastered herself 
somewhat by that time and alighted with a tolerably firm 
step. 

It was just as old Peter had said; the two waiting rooms 
were full of people, and all about the two latticed doors leading 
into the walled space occupied by the telegraphic operator 
there were dense crowds ; they were mostly negroes and labor- 
ing people, any and everybody whose calling got them out 
early. Right around the doors she distinguished the heads 
of several whose interest was ecpial to her own, but they were 
intent on what was going on on the other side of the doors 
and it would be impossible to make them hear amid such a 
hum of voices. After trying in vain to wedge her way into 
the living mass, Jean stopped behind a woman whom she 
recognized as the mother of one of her pupils and asked: 

“Are there any killed?” 

“Yes, all killed or crippled,” was the answer given with 
the gusto some people feel in telling bad news. 

Jean staggered towards the door, but before she reached it 
Robert came in apparently looking for some one. 

“Alice!” was all she could say as she stretched her hands 
helplessly towards him. 


POOR ALICE 


227 


“Yes, I know and have come to help you!” he replied with 
a face and voice full of sympathy and compassion as he 
watched her wring her hands in agony. 

“Won’t one of you give this lady a seat?” he asked turn- 
ing to a row of people seated in the chairs against the wall. 
The man in the seat nearest the door got up and Jean sat 
down. 

“Have you heard any late or definite news?” Robert asked 
after expressing his thanks for the seat. 

“Only that they say everyone is either killed or wounded,” 
Jean answered as best she could. 

“Who say?” 

“These people around here!” 

“They don’t know, so don’t let what they say distress you. 
Wait here till I come back and I’ll bring you reliable news, 
if it is to be had.” 

He made a spring, caught hold of the top of the partition 
enclosing the telegraph office and drew himself up. 

“If people keep on crowding in here, go out in the fresh 
air,” he said, and walking lightly along the top of the parti- 
tion dropped down inside the space where the clicking wires 
were telling good or bad news for so many anxious hearts. 
How long he was gone she couldn’t tell; it seemed an age 
measured by that relentless click, click, click; but he came 
back at last the same way he went, and taking her by the 
arm led her outside. 

“Are you able to bear it?” he asked. 

“Yes, tell me all — the worst — quickly.” 

“Their car with several others went off the track, down 
an embankment in fact. Some of our people are hurt, but 
how many, who they are, whether seriously or not, can’t be 
ascertained vet.” 

A mist spread itself before Jean’s eyes and she tottered, 
but that firm grasp on her arm steadied her. 


228 


POOR ALICE 


“Uncle Peter, open your carriage; I want a place for this 
lady to rest,” Robert said to the old man who was standing 
by his horses’ heads; and added when Jean was seated in the 
carriage: “Now give me your lines and bring some water 
from somewhere.” 

“I am not going to faint,” Jean said, trying to speak bravely. 

“I know you are not the fainting kind, but you will feel 
better when you’ve had some water.” 

The sun was well up now and pouring down a flood of light, 
but' it didn’t lend any cheerfulness to the begrimed station 
or to the anxious throng about it. 

“Why don’t they send help?” Jean asked. 

“A relief train has been dispatched from a station near the 
disaster, in fact it has reached them by this time. Some of 
our people are trying to get an engine and car, and if they 
succeed I’ll go down and look after Alice.” 

He spoke as if his thinking for her and helping her were 
a matter of course and Jean answered only by a look, but as 
he released the reins to Uncle Peter and took the glass of 
water the old man brought, some of the sunshine was reflected 
in his eyes. As Jean drank he said: 

“I’ll go now and help Mrs. Matthews out of that crowd; 
she is nearly exhausted and I promised to come back for her.” 

“Bring her here, poor woman; I know she is nearly crazy.” 

He was gone only a few minutes and returned with Mrs. 
Matthews who threw herself into Jean’s lap and burst into 
tears. Leaving them to comfort each other, Robert went back 
over the partition to wait for further news. 

It was weary waiting to the two women. The crowd had 
begun to disperse by twos and threes, but their places were 
quickly filled by new comers. Every one was talking, talking, 
and harrowing fragments of conversations drifted to their 
ears. An hour dragged slowly by, and Robert came out to 
say that the relief train had started on its return. 


POOR ALICE 


229 


“And didn’t that operator send me any news of Annie Mat- 
thews?” cried Mrs. Matthews sharply. 

“No, Mrs. Matthews. It is almost impossible to get any- 
thing through at all.” 

“The wretch! and he promised me faithfully he would!” 

“He did try several times while I stood there, but failed. 
Unfortunately, we are not the only ones interested; dispatches 
are pouring over the lines from all over the country, and it 
is nearly impossible to get in. Besides there is too much 
excitement and confusion at the other end for any one to be 
able to distinguish Miss Annie and give any account of her,” 
Robert explained, and added to Jean: “If you would like to 
- send any message to your mother I will take it now.” 

“Why, Robert Bruce! You are surely not thinking of 
going away from here without getting me some news of my 
child?” cried the excited mother. 

“But Mrs. Conway — she certainly deserves some considera- 
tion! Had you forgotten her?” 

Robert spoke quietly, but there was something so like re- 
buke in his eyes that Mrs. Matthews colored as she said apolo- 
getically : 

“Poor Lina! I had forgotten her; she takes everything so 
easy that I didn’t think of her as being interested at all.” 

“Yes,” Jean said in answer to Robert, “I would feel relieved 
if you would go. Just tell Noona everything and let her 
decide what she will tell mamma. Tell her too, if she needs 
me to send for me.” 

As soon as Robert was out of sight, Mrs. Matthews got out 
and going over to a rear window, inside of which the almost 
dazed operator was vainly trying to get an answer to his call, 
she began to alternately implore and abuse him. There was 
a sound of heavy wheels and a furniture-van drove up and 
deposited some hastily-made stretchers; the sight of them 
was sickening and Jean turned away. In a few minutes, Dr. 


230 


POOR ALICE 


Bardwell drove his buggy up to Uncle Peter’s carriage and 
begged Jean to go home; but she refused. The sun was get- 
ting hot and blinding and Mrs. Matthews came back to the 
carriage saying faintly, as she got in: 

“I only wish — I were a man — long enough to take that 
wretch — by the collar and shake — him into keeping his prom- 
ise! To think that I — I should be here all this time without 
getting any information about my child! It is preposterous!” 

Robert came back saying that Mrs. Conway was still sleep- 
ing and Noona wouldn’t tell her anything of the accident till 
it couldn’t possibly be helped. Noona sent word that she 
could take care of everything at home and didn’t need Jean. 
With Robert came Archie carrying a tray of breakfast. The 
poor boy’s eyes were red from crying, but he bore up bravely 
and tried to comfort Jean as he urged her to drink the coffee 
he held to her lips. 

Hastily drinking a cup of coffee, Robert went inside to see 
if there was any further news. A few minutes after he dis- 
appeared, there was a shout within the building which said 
plainly that there was good news; and he came running back 
waving his hat and smiling. 

“A dispatch from Mr. Beard! It says: ‘None of our gang 
killed; some of them hurt though. Callie and me O. K. !” 

“Thank God!” said Jean and Archie together; but Mrs. 
Matthews said indignantly: 

“The conceit of that man! Does he think that all the best 
people in town are standing here in this broiling sun to hear 
that he and Callie are O. K.?” 

“It was a message to his head clerk and intended for his 
family,” said Robert. 

“But isn’t he head and front of the whole affair and hasn’t 
he charge, of all the young people? He ought to know that 
we are in a fearful state of mind about our children. If ever 
I set eyes on him again I shall tell him my opinion of his 


POOR ALICE 


231 


conduct to-day. But it serves us right, Jean, for putting our- 
selves on a level with such a parvenu!” 

Robert explained that the message was sent out from a way- 
station; that the relief train had the track and was making 
good time. Archie went to carry the good news to Noona 
and soon a large part of the crowd had left. Another hour’s 
weary waiting and they were thrilled by the whistle of the 
coming train. The crowd pressed eagerly forward. With 
Mrs. Matthews on one arm and Jean on the other, Robert 
took his stand where they could see every one as they came 
out of the cars. 

“Hold fast to me and don’t let’s be pushed any farther if 
we can help it. I couldn’t find you again easily in this crowd, 
so you would both better stay right with me, no matter what 
happens,” he said. The anxiety and excitement were begin- 
ning to tell on Jean, but she felt strengthened every time she 
looked into the strong, quiet face above her. 

The train stopped amid an anxious silence. First came a 
freight car through whose wide open doors several white 
covered heaps could be seen whose outline told all too plainly 
what was beneath. There were several men also in it, among 
them Mr. Beard, who motioned for one of the stretchers to be 
handed in; in a few minutes it was handed out again bearing 
Mr. Winn. His arms and chest were bandaged and his face 
so distorted by pain as to be almost unrecognizable. 

“Don’t look that way; our people are getting out of the 
second coach,” said Robert. 

Mrs. Matthews had broken away from him as soon as the 
train stopped and was pushing her way through the crowd 
under the train windows, calling wildly for Annie. 

Jean looked at the second coach and saw a sad little proces- 
sion filing out; there were bandaged heads and arms and pale 
suffering faces; some were groaning with pain and others had 


232 


POOR ALICE 


to be helped; it seemed an endless time to Jean, but at last 
Robert said cheerily: 

“There! all the wounded are off and Alice is not among 
them!” and the next moment Alice’s face appeared at the 
door. But it was not the Alice who had gone away so bright 
and gay, but one short day before. She looked strangely 
aged and worn and didn’t seem to be noticing what was going 
on around her. The dress that had given so much pleasure 
was torn and soiled and the brave little turban had lost its 
jaunty set and was sadly battered, but there were no bandages 
about her. All this Jean saw, as with Robert close behind her 
she pressed through the crowd. Alice didn’t see them till 
Jean had her arms around her, then she turned rather im- 
patiently, exclaiming: 

“Oh, don’t, Jean! I’m not resurrected from the dead that 
you should make a scene right here!” 

“You’ll have to excuse us, Alice,” Robert interposed, “we’ve 
been so scared up about you that I feel like hugging you my- 
self. Are you all right?” 

Alice tried to smile but it was a dreary failure, as she replied: 

“I didn’t get a scratch, but of course I’m tired and hungry 
and sleepy and cross. I’m glad to see you though, for all 
that!” and though she tottered perceptibly she refused assist- 
ance as they made their way to the carriage. Robert went 
back and brought Mrs. Matthews and Annie. 

“It was good of you to cpme down here and keep Jean 
from acting the crank!” Alice said as Robert shook hands with 
them at parting. 

Annie was completely overcome and lay in her mother’s 
lap moaning and talking of the accident all the way home to 
Alice’s undisguised disgust. 

When the two girls got out at their gate the mother was 
examining the plants on the porch. 


POOR ALICE 233 

/ 

“She doesn’t know about the accident, so be careful!” Jean 
said. 

“All right,” Alice replied, and when half way up the walk 
she called out: 

“Your plants seem to be rather under the weather this 
morning, mamma!” 

“I over slept myself and Jean and Noona neglected to move 
them out of the sun!” the mother replied in an injured tone; 
then as Alice came up to kiss her she added: 

“But you don’t look well yourself.” 

“Of course, who would after being up all night? But if 
you all go to harping on the subject, I’m going to get mad.” 

Although Noona hastily put some things that she had pre- 
pared out of sight when Alice got out of the carriage un- 
assisted, everything was at hand for the traveler’s comfort; 
and after a bath and a pretense at eating Alice consented to 
go to bed if Jean would stay in the room with her. She was 
nervous, however, and rolled and tossed restlessly. Although 
she didn’t seem to pay attention to what was said, she kept 
begging Jean to talk to her, to talk about any and every thing 
except what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. 
Once or twice she dosed, but would wake again in a few 
seconds with a start and beg not to be left alone. After 
several hours of such vain attempts at rest she got up and 
moped about aimlessly. To friends who sent, or came to 
enquire about her, she said she was sick from the nervous 
shock of the accident, but she resented sharply any treatment 
from the family which seemed to show that they considered 
her ill. 

Everybody was interested in those who were wounded, and 
daily bulletins of health, gathered by those who went from 
house to house or put their heads out of windows to enquire 
of the doctor as he passed, were reported from lip to lip. Mr. 
Winn was the most seriously hurt and for some days was in 


234 


POOR ALICE 


a very critical state. He had been taken in charge by Mr. 
Beard, who carried him to his house where he was being 
nursed by Callie and her mother. The details of all this was 
brought to the Conways by Mrs. Matthews and Annie, who 
were among the daily visitors to the sick. Although Mrs. 
Conway took to her bed when first told of the accident and 
Alice still paled when it was mentioned, they were always 
eager to hear the news. 

One day the visitors came over in the heat of the morning 
and were evidently greatly excited. 

“Did you know we had a marriage in town this morning?” 
asked the elder lady before she was seated. 

“And one that is likely to prove a death-bed affair too,” 
said Annie. 

“Was Mr. Winn a party?” asked Alice in a tone of no un- 
certainty. 

“There! I told you, mamma, that Alice knew all about it!” 
exclaimed Annie. 

“You deceitful girl, to keep it all to yourself so closely!” 
cried the elder visitor. 

“Did you ever know me to go about publishing anything 
that had been confided to me?” 

“No, but you knew people were all thinking it was you he 
was in love with.” 

“Which only proves that people don’t always know as much 
as they think they do!” 

“They say she dressed herself — ” Annie began. 

“Who dressed herself?” said Mrs. Conway. 

“Why, Callie, the bride!” everybody laughed, and Annie 
continued: “Callie dressed herself in a nurse’s cap and apron 
for the occasion though she hadn’t been wearing such things 
before. And she says she married him to save his life!” 

“I should think if she could save his life at all she could 
do it without marrying him!” 


POOR ALICE 


233 


“Yes, she’s been helping her mother to nurse him all the 
time!” 

“To my mind, it has the appearance of taking advantage 
of him,” said Mrs. Matthews. 

“I don’t see how it would be possible to take advantage 
of even a sick man to the extent of making him go through 
the marriage ceremony if he didn’t wish to,” said Alice. 

“Alice is always loyal to her friends!” said Mrs. Matthews, 
admiringly. 

“What surprises me, Alice, is that Callie didn’t ask you to 
be maid of honor. You’ve been so intimate that I shouldn’t 
think she would feel like she was really married unless you 
had been there,” said Annie. 

“She wouldn’t have gotten me if she had' asked me; I 
wouldn’t go prowling into a sick room to be maid of honor 
to a queen.” 

“You are right, Alice! And no daughter of mine should 
go into a man’s sick room to be married tO’him,” said Mrs. 
Matthews emphatically. 

“Oh! as for the matter of that, he ought to be thankful to 
get Callie anyway; she’s a good girl and will make him a 
splendid wife,” Alice answered. 

“And hasn’t he fixed himself nicely? Old Mr. Beard has 
made enough money out of the people of this town to set 
any number of sons-in-law up in business,” Annie added. 

“No one will ever convince me,” said Mrs. Matthews, in 
the tone of one announcing a law of the Medes and Persians, 
“but that if Alice had had Callie’s money he would not have 
looked at Callie a second time. I saw enough on that camp- 
ing trip to settle me on that.” 

“But as Alice didn’t have the money that interesting prob- 
lem isn’t likely ever to be settled,” laughed Alice herself. 

“I’m not saying that you would have married him, Alice; 


236 


POOR ALICE 


for I think you have too good an idea of what your father’s 
daughter — ” 

“And mine!” interposed Mrs. Conway. 

“ — (of course she’s your daughter, Lina; who ever thought of 
denying it!) of what your father’s daughter ought to aspire to.” 

“You mean demand!” said Alice’s mother; but Mrs. Mat- 
thews was off on another interesting phase of the subject and 
didn’t hear her. 

In the afternoon others came and throughout all their 
visits the conversation continued to ebb and flow about the 
one absorbing topic. Alice was apparently as much inter- 
ested as anyone and laughed and chatted freely on the subject, 
though she always took the part of her friends when they were 
criticised. 

But that night, Jean was aroused by a sob which in the 
confusion of first waking seemed to fill all the air, as if the 
heart had burst in uttering it. Sitting up in bed she saw a 
white figure crouching by a chair near a window which was 
open. 

“Alice! What is the matter, darling?” she asked in a fright- 
ened voice. 

“O, Jean! I am praying as I never prayed before in my 
life,” was the answer in heart broken tones. 

“What for?” Jean asked as she reached the chair and bent 
over the bowed head. 

“That God will make you help me! O, Jean! you are the 
only comfort I ever had and I’m in such awful trouble.” 

“What about, dear?” Jean asked soothingly as she lifted 
Alice’s head from the chair and sat down, taking the head 
on her lap. 

“You heard what they were all talking about this after- 
noon,” Alice said, in half-inarticulate tones. 

“And — and do you care?” asked Jean in dismay. 

“Yes,” was the answer that came faintly through a storm of 


POOR ALICE 


237 


sobs and tears as Alice’s bright head went down again on 
the lap of her only comfort. For a few moments Jean said 
nothing, but sat stroking the soft hair under her hands, and 
wondering what she should do in this new turn in their miser- 
able affairs. Alice struggled to master her feelings and talk. 

“There, dear! don’t tell me anything about it if you don’t 
want to. Just tell me how you wish me to help you.” 

“But I do want to; I’ve been trying to tell you all about the 
whole wretched business ever since I got back, but I couldn’t 
ever make a beginning. You see, dear, it was this way. Callie 
has been telling me every word he said to her from the first 
and being my own confidant too, of course I soon saw that he 
was playing a double game. I am not sensible and strong 
like you and before I realized the danger, I was — er — exceed- 
ingly anxious to know which one he really cared for, if indeed 
it was either of us. But he played his game well and up to 
the time that miserable trip was proposed he had not asked 
either of us to marry him. But I determined to make him 
show his colors. I know it was mighty mean in me to take 
that evening dress, the only real nice thing we ever had, and 
then go and rob you of your dress besides; but I think I had 
very nearly lost my senses. On the trip down that morning 
I began my tactics. I made myself just as entertaining and 
provoking as possible and flirted outrageously with every- 
body except him. When we dressed for the evening I tried 
to look my best and I succeeded. I don’t say it through 
vanity; I studied myself disinterestedly and felt sure I never 
looked better. I behaved like the gayest of the gay too, as 
if I were the happiest girl in the world. There were lots of 
young men there, and as I had refused to make any engage- 
ments till we went into the ball room, I had lots of attention. 
There was a crowd around me all the time and I could see 
him standing listlessly about. When I gave him a dance at 
last he put in the whole time of it begging me for a chat on 


238 


POOR ALICE 


the veranda; he must see me before one o’clock he said; it 
was imperative and couldn’t be postponed. But I put him 
off, laughed and went my way as if there was nothing I cared 
for except admiration and pleasure. It was just after my 
dance with him, that I discovered Mr. Beard’s meanness. 
There was a lovely old couple there who seemed to take a 
fancy to me; I sat opposite to them at supper where we got 
into a chat and when we rose from the table the old gentle- 
man brought some lovely flowers and asked me to wear them. 
When we went to dress the old lady came and asked if she 
might help me, and said such nice things and gave me such 
sweet, motherly advice about not dancing too much and not 
going out in the night air, and did it all in such a dear, in- 
terested way that I fell in love with her. After dancing with Mr. 
Winn I went to promenade on the veranda and my partner 
and I fell into the line just behind Mr. Beard and the old 
gentleman, and, oh! the mean things Mr. Beard was saying! 
I didn’t hear my name at all, for which I was thankful, but 
I knew whom he was talking about and I could scarcely talk 
to the young man with me at all. The old gentleman said: 
‘She comes of a fine old family,’ and Mr. Beard said, with 
such an air of superiority, ‘Yes, it’s a fine family, but mighty 
hard up,’ and then he went on to say that the family were 
supported by the oldest sister who ran a truck-patch; that 
he and his daughter had felt sorry for me and had done a 
great deal for me; that he had brought me on this trip, paying 
all my expenses, in the hope that my pretty face would catch 
me a husband. The old gentleman said that there didn’t 
seem to be any difficulty about my catching one if I wanted 
one, that he thought the trouble would be in my being able 
to choose among the many who offered themselves. It -hadn’t 
occurred to me till then what had called forth all that mean- 
ness from Mr. Beard; but when he said with the air of a lord 
that young men didn’t generally want to marry the girls they 


POOR ALICE 


239 


like to dance with, that they looked for something more sub- 
stantial when it came to selecting a wife, I knew he was jeal- 
ous of my popularity. That wasn’t all; there was a lot more 
and it just made me sick! I thought of how you had tried 
to keep me out of the obligation, and oh! how I wished I had 
taken your advice! But I determined to carry out the object 
for which I had placed myself in this degrading position; so 
I choked down all my misery and smiled and danced as if 
nothing had ever given me a moment’s unhappiness. After 
I had tormented Mr. Winn into showing his feelings so plainly 
that everyone could understand, I gave him the interview he 
wanted. He told me he loved me desperately and begged me 
to run away with him. There would be a train at one o’clock; 
we could leave on that; Mr. Smith would go with us; and we 
would be married at once and return home. I had determined 
to keep my wits and know the whole thing, so I asked why 
we should run away, who there was to run from; and then 
he had to tell me that he had been making love to Callie too. 
He didn’t care for her, had loved me from the first in fact; but 
he had always been poor and had a hard struggle in the world 
and her money had been a great temptation to him. But he 
was over all that now; he loved me above all the riches in the 
world, and asked nothing better than to work for me and 
make me happy, if I would only come now and marry him. 
But I insisted on knowing what the necessity was for an elope- 
ment, and at last he had to tell me that he had gone so far 
as to speak to Mr. Beard about Callie and was afraid of him, 
if we were married; though he felt sure Mr. Beard would see 
that it would do no good to raise a row about it. I made him 
tell the whole pitiable, contemptible story and then I had my 
revenge. I told him he was mistaken in me, that I was not 
the woman to consent under any circumstances to marry a 
man who had deceived a friend of mine, such a good, confiding 
girl as Callie too; and that I despised his course of duplicity. 


240 


POOR ALICE 


And I assured him that the man I married would be one who 
feared neither poverty nor the face of his fellow man. I told 
him, too, that I was going to tell Callie all about the affair 
so she wouldn’t be deceived, even if she married him after- 
wards. He left me in a towering rage and I was about to 
have to go back to the ball room alone when that dear old 
gentleman got up from a seat where we had hemmed him in. 
He apologized for having been an unintentional listener and 
said he had tried to make his presence known but we didn’t 
hear him. He gave me his arm and as we went back he said: 

“I find I had the pleasure of knowing your father, Miss 
Conway, and it is an inspiration to me to find that good blood 
doesn’t deteriorate with other changes; that honor and prin- 
ciple and self-respect are as strong in young people to-day 
as they were in his young day and mine,” And, oh! Jean, 
you don’t know how those words helped me. I don’t know 
how I should have lived through the misery of it all without 
them. Oh! as much as I hate poverty and work I could have 
borne them so bravely and cheerfully for his sake, if he had 
been good and brave and true as I thought him at fir^t!” And 
again Alice’s head went down in a tempest of grief. 

“But Mr. Winn — does he know?” 

“O Jean! that is the one thing in all my life that I have to 
be thankful for! He doesn’t know; he thinks me a heartless 
flirt. If he suspected the truth I could never hold my head 
up again. It is all over now! All the romance and happiness 
are gone out of my young life and I’ve nothing to live for 
except duty and fame; but I shall never cease to be glad that 
I had sense enough to hide my feelings. Self-respect is the 
one star still shining in my darkened sky.” 

“But you are young and will get over this; some day a good, 
true man will find you, and then you. will be wonderfully glad 
that this affair ended as it has done,” said the comforter, 
soothingly. 


POOR ALICE 


241 


Alice shook her head drearily. 

“You don’t understand these things, Jean. My faith in 
human nature is destroyed and I can never love without faith. 
No, after this I shall live for fame and my family; and that is 
where I want you to help me, Jean. You know you said you 
would, when my opportunity came.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Jean asked. 

“Promise first and I’ll tell you. O, Jean, I don’t know what 
will become of me if you don’t come to my rescue! But you 
have always helped me out of my childish troubles and I know 
you won’t fail me now, in the greatest trial of my life!” 

“You know I’ll help you in everything that I think is right; 
so go on;” Jean said, slipping down to the floor too. 

“It is this!” Alice began eagerly as they settled themselves 
Turk fashion. “You know I can’t stay here after what has 
happened; I’d be too miserable to live. Everybody knows 
that he has been paying attentions to both of us and they are 
all talking about it. You heard how our friends talked, and 
there are lots who will be glad to think that he flirted with 
me and will be watching me all the time hoping and expect- 
ing to see me betray my feelings. I would just rather die 
than have to encounter their prying eyes. We haven’t got 
any friends that I could go and visit; but I’ve got my voice, 
my one treasure, and I want to make something of that. We 
are not able to afford training in a conservatory in this coun- 
try, but you know how cheap Elise says everything is in 
Europe, living, musical training and all, and I want you to 
help me to go to Germany to Elise where I can study for the 
operatic stage. Archie says he’ll keep the place Mr. Crosby 
is going to give him and let me have the money. I know 
you had promised yourself a rest from teaching this fall and 
I know you need it bad enough, but if you’ll keep it a little 
while longer and let me have the money I’m sure I will be 
able to do something that will amount to something for all 


242 


POOR ALICE 


of us. Will you dear? You know there will be money com- 
ing in from the plantation this fall to support the family!” 

Jean had listened in growing wonder and she almost lost 
her breath when Alice proposed to study for the stage. No- 
body but Alice would have thought , of such a daring thing, 
but she was perfectly sincere and dreadfully in earnest in be- 
lieving a great career awaited her. She had anticipated 
all Jean’s objections and had a reply ready for each of them. 

Jean argued against the plan for some time but Alice would 
not admit that it was impracticable; and at last they went to 
bed on Jean’s promising not to decide against it at once. 
When sleep came at last it found the troubled sister first; long 
after Alice had forgotten her broken heart in dreamland Jean 
lay awake trying to devise some way out of this new trouble. 
That Alice needed a change of scene and some absorbing oc- 
cupation, was certain; but how to get them? To throw her 
into companionship with as reckless a woman as Elise would 
be bad anywhere, but to do that on a foreign continent in her 
present frame of mind, with her beauty, her inexperience, and 
her poverty, would be to start her on the career of an ad- 
venturess. 

When Jean awoke next morning with her problem still un- 
solved Alice was sleeping soundly; and shutting out the light 
she left her to the peace she couldn’t find in waking. 


CHAPTER X I X 


DUKE ENLISTS 

, two, and even three days 
passed, and still Alice had 
not finished her nap. She 
waked sometimes and talk- 
ed and even laughed and 
joked, if anybody besides 
Jean was in the room; but 
she wouldn’t get up and 
she wouldn’t eat. She 
wasn’t hungry and she 
wasn’t sick, she said, just 
tired; and she didn’t want 
anybody to make a fuss 
over her, only let her alone 
and let her rest. Once 
when Jean urged her, she got up and dressed and 
went in to see some visitors ; they were people who 
had not called before in a long time, and Jean felt sure they 
had come out of curiosity. If her suspicions were correct, 
they didn’t discover anything to gossip about; for Alice was 
never brighter or more natural. She went to bed completely 
exhausted, as soon as they were gone, however, and when 
next morning, she still showed no disposition to get up, Jean 
sent for Dr. Bardwell. 

“O, Doctor! what did you come here for? I’m not sick!” 
Alice exclaimed when he was ushered in. 



( 243 ) 


244 


DUKE ENLISTS 


“That’s a fine way to greet a visitor! Does she talk to the 
young men that way, too?” said the doctor, turning laughingly 
to Jean. 

“Oh ! I know you have come to give me some of your horrid 
pills. They say you carry the box with you and give every- 
body a dose out of it, no matter what’s the matter with' them.” 

“That isn’t so, Miss! I know my pill boxes as well as you 
know the keys of your piano. See here! — and here! — and 
here!” said he, taking boxes from various pockets, and setting 
them on the table. There were boxes of all sorts, shapes and 
sizes; pasteboard boxes, wooden boxes and tin boxes; boxes 
round, square and oblong; thick boxes and thin ones. 

“I surrender!” Alice cried, holding up her hands in mock 
terror. 

“Now, these,” said the old man, tapping a little wooden 
barrel, “are for the liver; and these for nervous headaches — ” 
and he ran on down the list glibly. 

“And when you don’t know what is the matter with a body, 
you give ’em some of all! I just know I’ll have to take the 
whole lay-out!” said Alice; and so the jokes flew. 

“You’d better make haste and get out of here! You don’t 
look near so handsome in bed as you do on horseback, I can 
tell you,” said the doctor, as he took his leave. 

“Oh! that doesn’t matter, as there’s nobody but an old gray- 
headed doctor to see me!” Alice retorted, gaily. 

Dr. Bardwell had been so cheery that Jean followed him to 
the door with little apprehension; but his words were not so 
reassuring. 

“She has some fever; what it will amount to I can’t tell yet. 
Let her stay in bed and be quiet; and get her to take a little 
milk if she will. I’ll be back this afternoon.” 

For a day or two the doctor came and went cheerfully, leav- 
ing medicines and giving directions, which Jean followed to 
the letter; but at last he had to acknowledge that medicines 



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DUKE ENLISTS 


245 


did no good. There was little to be done but to hope and wait 
— wait for the seventh day; if she took a turn for the better 
then, all would be well. 

In the meantime Jean’s school closed, and she was at liberty 
to give her undivided attention to Alice. Archie went to clerk 
for Mr. Crosby, and Duke began to give more of his time than 
he had been spending at home in a long While to amusing 
Alice. Commencement festivities began, but none of the fam- 
ily attended them; sickness was something new to them, and 
they all waited. 

The morning after the crisis, Jean met Dr. Bardwell at the 
door and took him into the parlor. 

“Oh, Doctor! She’s worse this morning; her mind is wan- 
dering!” 

All the cheerfulness fled from the doctor’s face, and he said 
gravely : 

“Tut, tut, tut! When did you notice the change?” 

“About four o’clock this morning! She waked and grew 
restless, but didn’t recognize any of us,” Jean answered; and 
as he was about to pass on to the sick-room she held him back, 
saying anxiously: 

“Doctor, Alice has had trouble, and she may talk about it, 
but you won’t notice what she says, or — or — ” 

‘My dear child,” said the old man, compassionately, “what 
the sick-room reveals is sacred with the physician!” And re- 
lieved from one haunting fear, Jean followed him to the bed- 
side. 

It was even as she had said; Alice was worse; and in deeper 
fear and anxiety, the little circle began waiting for the next 
period . in the disease which had fastened itself upon her. A 
hush fell over the place that told far more than words could 
have done. Kit was overawed for once. Archie came and 
went noiselessly, bringing from time to time such things as 
the doctor ordered and paying for them with his own money; 


246 


DUKE ENLISTS 


he even sent home an ice-box and kept it filled, though ice was 
an expensive luxury. Duke stayed at home and took his turn 
regularly at nursing. The mother was threatened with fever 
herself at first, but upon Dr. Bardwell’s giving her an impres- 
sive talk and some powders, she recovered. 

A few days after Alice’s turn for the worse, Robert Bruce 
called to say good-bye; he had taken only a few days’ vacation 
between receiving his degree in law and going to work, and 
was now setting out for his new home. He had written his 
mother his secret before coming, and asked her to invite Jean 
to Mock Orange while he was at home; Jean had accepted the 
invitation, and he had anticipated a week of sweet, old-fash- 
ioned courting, in the shade of the grand old trees, on the 
river, and in the saddle. But fate had been against him, and 
after having prolonged his stay some days in the hope that 
Alice would get better and Jean could still come, he had had to 
leave. 

“I may write to you?” he asked, as he shook hands at part- 
ing. 

“When Alice gets better,” Jean answered in a way that 
showed how completely that one thought overshadowed all 
others. 

As the long, hot days dragged slowly by, the anxiety of the 
little family group rose into one prolonged wail of fear. O, 
Alice, Alice, Alice! the beautiful, bright flower of the flock! 
Smitten down so suddenly! Oh! how their hearts ached over 
her as they wondered if she would ever arise to cheer them 
with her saucy, provoking ways again, or thought how blank 
the world would be without her! 

But Alice herself was all unconscious of their distress, as 
day by day she went deeper and deeper down into the valley 
of shadows; she had her troubles but they were the troubles 
of the past; in her delirium she had gone back to their days of 


DUKE ENLISTS 


247 


privation and was living over again the sufferings of those 
dark hours. 

“O, Jean!” she would cry, wringing her hands, “there isn’t 
a thing that poor mamma can eat! Oh! she is just starving 
by inches, and not uttering a word of complaint! Why, why 
will not God give us food for her!” Again, she would laugh 
with delight over something she had gotten, something the 
mother would relish; and then she would be plunged into the 
deepest grief by the loss of her new-found treasure. 

At times, the pitiable little revelation would bring tears to 
the eyes of good old Dr. Bardwell and Mrs. Matthews (the 
latter was the only one of the many friends who had offered 
assistance that Jean felt like trusting with the inner history 
of family affairs); but Jean was secretly glad that it was this 
that the fever reproduced so vividly to the poor brain, and not 
that other trouble, whose uncovering would have so mortified 
poor Alice. 

Sometimes the sick girl would catch Duke by both hands 
and beg and implore him with tears to help them; and with a 
face full of contrition he would soothe and reassure her, prom- 
ising everything she asked. Poor Duke was a different boy; 
the arrogant air with which he had carried himself was gone, 
and his selfishness and false pride, too. He worked with the 
sick girl with all the devotion and patience of a woman; noth- 
ing was too humble, too menial for him to do. 

Another crisis of the disease and another passed without any 
change for the better, and a fourth was due. A month’s anxiety 
and almost incessant nursing had left Jean little able to bear 
the strain of the night, and Dr. Bardwell came to take her 
place with Mrs. Matthews at the bedside. The mother was 
given a quieting powder and left in Archie’s care, and Noona 
went to get some rest, so as to be able to meet an emergency. 

Unable to bear the oppressiveness of four walls, Jean took 
her seat on the front steps. All the doors and windows were 


243 


DUKE ENLISTS 


open wide to catch any breath of air that might relieve the 
sultriness, and from her seat she could see Alice as she lay 
almost as still and white as her pillow. Her beautiful hair, 
her crown of glory, had been shorn, and iced clothes enveloped 
her head. 

The night was moonless, but the stars afforded some com- 
pensation for the moon’s absence. With something of the 
feeling that affected Jean, Duke had come out, and was pacing 
noiselessly up and down the walk, where the dim light of the 
hall-lamp fell upon it. One by one the lights in the neighbor- 
ing houses went out and the night became still; once or twice 
there was a slight stir in the sick room, but comprehending 
its meaning from where she sat, Jean didn’t go in. 

After a time, Duke came and sat down on the steps at her 
feet, and dropping his head forward in a dejected way, said in 
a voice whose emotions he tried in vain to conceal: 

“I’ve just been thinking, Jean, that this thing of living is a 
mighty serious business! I’ve made a glorious bust of it so 
far, but I’m going to turn over a new leaf; I’m going to 
work!” 

For some seconds the deep emotion kept Jean silent; 
when she did speak she remembered how Duke hated any- 
thing like gush, and only said: 

“That’s right! What do you propose to do?” 

“I don’t know yet; don’t suppose I’m fit for anything much 
now; but I’m going in for duty and all that sort of thing, and 
make a man of myself if it’s in me. You don’t know,” he 
continued, humbly, “how worthless I’ve felt since she’s been 
sick. There is that little old kid, Arch, buying wine and ice 
and everything she needs, and I, who ought to do so much, 
am not able to do anything.” 

“You’ve done your part splendidly! I don’t know how we 
could have gotten on without you!” Jean hastened to say, 
comfortingly. 


DUKE ENLISTS 


249 


“I couldn’t do a man’s part, and it was all my own fault, so 
I determined to do a woman’s if I could. It’s been awful hard 
lines on me to hear her going over all that old trouble, and 
when she gets after me as she does, I feel like going out and 
shooting myself; but I know I deserve it all. If she’s spared 
to us she shall never have to complain of me again.” 

If she should be spared to them! The words brought back 
an overwhelming tide of doubt and fear, and instinctively both 
turned to look at the still, white face on the pillow. Duke laid 
his hand on the two clasped convulsively in Jean’s lap, and 
whispered huskily: 

“Are you praying for her, Jean?” 

“With all my soul!” she replied. 

“So am I !” he said, and pressing her hand, he turned away 
and lay down upon his face in the grass. 

As Jean sat out the long weary hours, one round of thought 
continued to revolve in her mind, and like most things human, 
it was a mixture of joy and pain. Duke was rescued, that 
was joy unspeakable; but what would be the cost? Would it 
be that one wayward one had to be given for the other? 
Would Alice have to pay the price with the life she so con- 
temned? Would she be snatched away without being allowed 
one more chance, poor, beautiful, miserable, worldly Alice? 
Oh! how insignificant seemed the trials of those other years! 
How gladly she would return to them! how patiently beat 
them, if only their circle could remain unbroken! 

One, two, three, four, was struck by the old town clock, 
and shortly after the last stroke there was a stir in the sick 
room; Jean recognized it as different from the others that had 
occurred during the night, and for an instant her limbs seemed 
turned to stone. Then calling softly to Duke, she got up and 
went in. At the door she encountered Alice’s eyes, oh! so 
appealing in their utter weakness, but rational. 

“There, dear, you are better; take this, but don’t try to talk!” 


250 


DUKE ENLISTS 


she said, as she raised Alice’s head and gave the draught the 
doctor handed her. Mrs. Matthews began to close the shut- 
ters, lest some breath of air should fan out the feeble flame of 
life. Duke came as far as the door, but upon receiving a 
cheering smile and a nod from Dr. Bardwell, went back. Jean 
sat down and took the hand Alice tried to give her, and for 
fifteen minutes fought such a battle with her feelings that when 
Alice’s eyes closed again and Dr. Bardwell took the hand to 
watch the feeble pulse, he said, authoritatively: 

“Go and sleep now; don’t fail!” 

She went to the mother’s room, where Archie still kept 
anxious watch, and after telling him the good news, fell across 
the bed and sobbed herself to sleep. 

It was a glorious morning that waked them all to returning 
life and hope. There was still a good many days of anxious, 
careful nursing for Jean, Mrs. Matthews and Noona, but they 
were over at last, and then the young ones took up the task of 
nursing the roses back to Alice’s cheeks. No queen ever had 
more willing slaves; they were all tenderness and affection; 
it didn’t seem possible that they would ever twit and nag and 
aggravate each other again. 

While Alice had to be lifted and wheeled about, Duke stayed 
at home and worked with her. She wasn’t always easy to 
please, either; for she had never been sick before, and getting 
well was a trying experience; but Duke’s patience never 
flagged; he allowed her to “boss” him around in a way that 
astonished even Alice herself. After a while she was able to 
creep about by holding on to chairs and tables, it wasn’t much 
like the light-footed Alice of old, but it meant getting well, 
and Duke started out to begin his new life. He had asked 
Jean not to say anything about his resolution till he had found 
employment; so when he came home at the end of the first day 
with a rather long face, nobody except herself knew what it 
meant. By the next evening, his long face had grown into a 


DUKE ENLISTS 


251 


most solemn visage, and when the rest had gone to bed he sat 
down by Jean for a long talk. 

“I’ve about been the round now, Jean, and nothing has 
come of it; if people have got anything they want done they 
won’t trust me to do it. I can’t blame them, either; they think 
I only want to idle around and draw a salary.” 

“But you haven’t applied everywhere yet; there are certainly 
some places you have overlooked,” said Jean, who was afraid 
of the effect of discouragement. 

“No, I can’t say I’ve been everywhere, but I’ve been far 
enough to see how the land lies so far as clerking goes.” 

“Oh, well! Clerking isn’t everything; indeed, I think it a 
very unpromising business unless a boy has talent for mer- 
chandising, as Mr. Crosby says Archie has.” 

“That’s just what I am coming to!” said Duke, evidently 
encouraged. “Mr. Martin will give me a place in his mill 
any day, but I know how the mother and A1 will feel about my 
going at anything like that, and I wanted to talk to you about 
it. The truth is, I hate clerking, bobbing about at every- 
body’s beck and call, and trying to wheedle people into buying 
what they don’t want; on the other hand, I love machinery. 
I’ve hung around the mill till I can run any piece in the shop. 
Martin has tried to hire me several times, and I know he would 
take me in now. I would make it my aim to go to some me- 
chanical college when I had earned the money to pay my way. 
I believe I could go to the top of the ladder as a machinist; 
anyway, that’s the place I’d aim for. You see, it’s just a ques- 
tion between what I can succeed in and family pride. Now, 
what would you do?” 

Duke had never asked her advice before, and Jean felt that 
his reformation must be thorough indeed if he could bring 
himself to that. 

“I would just throw pride to the winds, and be what I felt 
I could succeed in,” she answered with fervor. 


252 


DUKE ENLISTS 


“You know,” he continued argumentatively, “that the 
mother has always insisted that it should be the law; she used 
to be always talking to me about going to New Orleans and 
going in with Rene before his last fracas.” They both laughed 
a little at the ludicrous aspect which Rene’s conduct had given 
> the mother’s plans, and Duke added, “But the truth is, I’m 
no more fit for a lawyer than I am for a cherub.” 

“For pity’s sake, don’t let’s have any more failures in that 
profession in the family,” Jean said, in a tone of disgust. “You 
know, John studied law, and you see what Rene has done at 
it. If you haven’t yet discovered it, I’ll tell you now, that 
mamma is just as impracticable as she can be. What you 
want to do is to get a common sense idea of your abilities and 
your opportunities, and be guided by them.” 

“That’s it! That’s just it exactly!” exclaimed Duke, ener- 
getically. “I never could get up energy to work for some- 
thing away off yonder in the clouds; but I believe if you’d 
bring things down to where I could see ’em and handle ’em, 
I’d have as much energy as anybody. Now, if you say you 
will back me up against the mother and Al, I’m in for being a 
machinist, with all my heart.” 

“I’ll certainly back you up with all the pluck I’ve got, but 
you will have to have a plenty of your own, too,” said Jean, 
thinking of what she herself had had to go through with. 
“You will have to stick to your purpose doggedly, and not 
mind anything they say.” 

“I’ve been pretty determined in the wrong course, and it’s 
to be hoped that I’ll have as much grit in following the right.” 

“I am sure you will!” said Jean, confidently, and with a 
hearty shake of hands to seal the compact between them, they 
separated. 

Next morning when Jean went to wake him, she found 
Duke already gone; he came back to breakfast, however, and 


DUKE ENLISTS 


253 


while she was putting up a lunch for him, he changed his 
clothes for an old suit, and was off again in a hurry. 

“Don’t tell them!” he said upon leaving. “It will only 
worry Alice while she is weak; besides, I want to have some- 
thing to give her when I tell her I have gone to work, some- 
thing I’ve earned, you know.” 

Several evenings after, when the two boys came from work, 
Jean called them out to a council of war. Archie had been 
her trusted lieutenant ever since that sorrowful morning in the 
little schoolroom, when she had laid part of her too heavy 
burden on his young shoulders; and it was with great pride 
and gratitude that she now mustered Duke into their ranks; 
her cause, she felt, was growing strong. Duke showed that 
he felt his promotion, too, and was eager to meet its responsi- 
bilities. Like a wise general, Jean laid the exigencies of the 
hour before them and shared the responsibility with them. It 
was imperative that Alice should have a change — that was all 
she told them — but it could not be procured without their as- 
sistance. What could they do? 

Plans and means, family necessities and family resources, 
were all discussed at length, and the result was that next morn- 
ing two eager boys sought their employers to find out if with 
good behavior and close attention to business, they could re- 
tain their places through the winter, and Jean spent two hours 
in the sutffy little parlor of the old German music teacher, and 
then wrote a long letter to Judge Bruce. 

Everything seemed to favor the young schemers, and when 
Saturday night came, the wherewithall having been definitely 
settled and only the where and the when being still in doubt, 
it was decided to let Alice into the plot. She had gone to bed; 
for she was still very weak, but she liked to have them come 
and sit with her, as she couldn’t sleep during the early part of 
the night, and didn’t like to be by herself. When they had all 
assembled in her room, Duke, who had been selected to “break 


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the news/’ began by tossing four crisp new dollars on the bed, 
saying: 

“It seems to me, Al, the rig you sailed out in last rather 
had the starch taken out of it by the tumble you took, so here's 
something to go towards getting a new outfit.” 

“What does this mean?” Alice asked, looking at the money 
in surprise. 

“It means,” said Duke, “that in gratitude to you for not 
‘shuffling off this mortal coil/ I’ve gone to work, and these, 
the first fruits of my efforts, I lay on the altar of brotherly 
affection and all that sort of thing, you know.” 

Alice’s eyes filled with tears, and she said, in a tremulous 
voice: 

“That’s mighty clever in you, old chappie, and I appreciate 
it, but you’d better keep the money, as I won’t need any new 
rig soon.” 

Then Duke got excited in spite of all Jean’s cautions, and 
exclaimed: 

“Won’t you, though? Maybe I know more about that than 
you do!” 

“What do you know about it?” asked Alice, curiously. 

“I know that a firm has just been formed under the style of 
‘Jean, Arch, Duke and Co./ for the purpose of shipping red- 
headed girls to conservatories of music. I know, too, that 
the means have been provided for, and that the red-headedest 
girl in all this town had better be hustling around for a new 
rig if she doesn’t want to be shipped in the old one.” Alice’s 
eyes began to sparkle. 

“Is it so?” she cried, excitedly, holding out a trembling hand 
to Jean. 

“Yes,” said Jean cheerily,, “it’s all arranged and you must 
hurry up now and get strong.” 

Before she finished speaking, Alice astonished them all by 
bursting out crying, and she cried so frantically that Jean 


DUKE ENLISTS 


255 


hustled them all out of the room in short order. But Alice 
gained control of her nerves in a little while, and would have 
them back to tell how grateful she was, and to talk over 
the plans and arrangements with them; she brightened up and 
declared that she was already well on the road to recovery. 
They talked far beyond her usual time for going to sleep, and 
when Jean said they must quit and go to bed, Alice still wasn’t 
a bit sleepy; indeed, when Jean waked in the night she found 
her still wide awake and restless. 

When Dr. Bardwell dropped in next morning, as he con- 
tinued to do, from force of habit, he said, he found Alice much 
let down. Jean made a clean confession of the cause, and the 
doctor called a caucus of all parties concerned, and told them 
that they had struck upon the right thing, but they mustn’t put 
it off so long. Alice hadn’t been getting well as fast as he 
liked, and he made up his mind that she must have a change. 
He ended by saying that he was going home and write to 
Judge Bruce, and if they had any women’s fixings to get ready, 
they’d better set about it early next morning. 

So it came about that after little more than a week’s hasty 
preparation, Jean found herself seated in the north-bound train 
one morning with Alice, pale and listless beside her. In all 
their day-dreaming about the time when they should get on 
this Magic Carpet and speed away into the great world, they 
had never imagined anything like this; but Jean felt that under 
the circumstances it was immeasurably good, and she wouldn’t 
have had it otherwise. She said something to Alice about it 
as she settled her comfortably, but when she saw the pain in 
Alice’s great brown eyes — eyes that looked really too big in 
the emaciated face — she changed the subject. The next min- 
ute Uncle Bruce came under the window to hand her the 
checks and give last directions and advice; the bell sounded, 
the train began to move, and leaning out, Jean said hastily: 

“Give my regards to Robert, and tell him Alice is better,” 


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and drew back with a flushed face. But directly, with the com- 
ing of other thoughts, the color died out, and then the people 
in the car could scarcely have told which of the two girls was 
the invalid, if one had not had a pillow behind her head and 
been so carefully watched over by the other. 

When home, with Noona standing in the kitchen door and 
Jim waving his hat from the garden fence, swept out of sight, 
Jean began to feel that it was a risky thing for the head of a 
family to turn things loose and go off that way; but, she re- 
flected, Uncle Bruce was taking the mother and Kit to Mock 
Orange and Noona had been so much gratified at being left 
in charge of the house and the boys; it was true there were not 
many people who would leave boys of Duke’s and Archie’s 
ages to their own guidance, but Archie had always been a 
little old man, and Duke had come out so beautifully lately 
that she felt it would be unkind not to trust him. So she dis- 
missed the household, and set about amusing Alice. They 
began to wonder about the people in the car, where they lived, 
where they were going, and if their journeys were pleasant or 
sad. Alice particularly wondered if they were happy, or had 
had trouble, and like all young people in their first experience 
of the bitter part of life’s cup, she concluded that they were all 
happy, and that she alone was set apart to sorrow and disap- 
pointment. 

After a while Alice got sleepy and lay down, and when Jean, 
too, had so far lost herself as to let the fan drop to her face 
a time or two, a lady came and kindly took it from her, and 
she leaned back in her corner and dozed too. When they 
waked another lady brought them a big silver mug full of 
lemonade, and all four fell into a pleasant chat, while a jolly 
rogue of a baby played “peep” over his mother’s shoulder with 
Alice. In the afternoon they sped through fresh mountain air 
with an ever-shifting scene of beauty before them, and late at 


DUKE ENLISTS 


257 


night reached their destination and slept the deep, refreshing 
sleep of the tired. 

It was a quiet, cool place that Dr. Bardweii had selected for 
them,- with plenty of shady paths and beautiful views, 
and there was a lot of nice, quiet people, who, like themselves, 
had come for repose and health. After some days’ rest, the two 
girls began to feel at home, and to try their returning strength 
on the mountain sides. 

While stretched in a shady nook after a ramble, one day, 
Jean told Alice about Robert. 

“I’m glad, dear, and hope you will both be as happy as you 
deserve to be,” Alice said, none the less heartily because her 
cheek paled and her voice quivered in the saying. 

“I’m afraid if we are blessed only in proportion to our de- 
serts, our cup of happiness will not be overflowing,” Jean said 
humbly. 

“For my part, I’m beginning to believe in rewards and pun- 
ishments in this world. I think you will be happy 
because you deserve to be, while my own miserable lot is my 
just due. You certainly have my sympathy, dear, but don’t 
feel hurt if I don’t talk to you much on the subject.” After 
that, for several days, Alice was so low-spirited that Jean felt 
sorry she had said anything to recall her trouble to her. 

One evening a few days after Jean and Alice left home, 
Robert Bruce paced up and down his room in a city boarding 
house in anything but a happy frame of mind. He had thrown 
the windows open wide to catch any stray breeze, and turned 
the gas on full, probably with the hope of getting light on the 
dark subject of his thoughts. An open letter on the table to 
which he turned at last gave a clue to his trouble. The closing 
paragraph ran — 

“They have gone to Upper View Hotel for a month. Alice 
will not return, but will go to B — from there. By the way, 
Jean sent her regards, and said to tell you Alice is better. You 


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DUKE ENLISTS 


may know what hidden meaning there is in that apparently 
superfluous statement; that there is some I am sure; else why 
should Jean have changed color in making it? Slight evi- 
dence, you will say, and circumstantial at that. But when you 
have seen as much of the ins and outs of human nature as I 
have, you will attach as much meaning to the way a witness 
looks as to what he says. 

Your aff. father, 

Samuel Bruce.” 

\ 

Robert smiled over his father’s shrewd comprehension of 
Jean’s little device for letting him know that he might write to 
her, but the smile changed into an expression of pain as he 
laid the letter down and walked away; his face had changed 
again, however, and wore a softened look, when he turned 
back at the end of the room. 

“Poor little girl! Why should I blame her for not being 
willing to tie herself to an incompetent? She certainly has 
had care and responsibility enough already to crush her, and 
she is simply acting upon the law of self-preservation now. 
What hope would there be left her if she should make a finan- 
cial mistake in marrying?” 

Under the influence of such reflections he sat down and 
wrote rapidly and long. Upon reading over what he had 
written, however, he laid the letter down and took another turn 
up and down the room, while pride whispered in his ear: 

“You are surely not going to send a gushing epistle like 
that to a girl who doesn’t profess to care a straw for you, who 
has in fact told you that she will not consider you till she sees 
that you are going to be successful? Will you not be casting 
pearls — no, not that exactly. But at any rate, laying your 
deepest feelings bare to a gaze that is at least unsympathetic 
and may be coldly critical? Oh! who would have thought 
that Jean, of all women in the world, was mercenary.” 


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259 


The poor young fellow thrust his hands savagely to the 
bottom of his pockets (if he had been a woman he would have 
wrung them — the hands, not the pockets), and strode rapidly 
back and forth. In a few minutes he sat down, tore up the 
love letter and wrote another, a business letter this time. But 
still pride wasn’t satisfied. 

“Why,” it said, “bore her with all the pitiable little details of 
your struggle? It is the grand total only that she is interested 
in. In fact, why write at all? Why not let the whole matter 
lie dormant till you are safely over the sandbars and can ask 
her to settle the matter at once?” 

But here the heart of him rose up as clamorously as pride 
had done. 

“No,” it said emphatically, “she may have some faults — and 
who has not? — but she is noble, devoted, heroic, and when she 
has once given her pledge, she will keep it with all faithfulness. 
I want her for my own, and I will not relinquish even the slight 
claim she has given me.” 

“Besides,” whispered honor, “you asked her permission to 
write, and having gained it, you cannot now refuse to do so.” 
Thereupon Robert tore up the business communication and 
wrote a letter — and oh, such a letter! 

Two days later a girl with shining eyes climbed to a rustic 
seat on the mountain side and took it from her pocket where 
it had been sacredly hidden from all profane gaze. As she 
read it, however, “the light that never was on sea or land,” 
faded from her face, and when she finished and laid it open on 
her lap, the brightness had left the brilliant scene before 
her, and the world was cold and gray. 

Was this love, of which every true-hearted girl dreamed as 
the best and sweetest of life’s gifts? Then how overdrawn 
were all poets’ songs, all dreams of young hearts! Were all 
things in life hollow and deceiving? 

From the beginning, “Dear Jean,” to the “Yours Truly,” 


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DUKE ENLISTS 


there was not a word of what he had said that beautiful night 
that seemed so long ago now, not an expression to indicate 
that he remembered it even, and nothing about his prospects, 
which so closely concerned them both. It was just an expres- 
sion of his gratification at Alice’s recovery, a description of his 
new home and the people he had met, and something about a 
new book he was going to send her. Jean wondered if she 
had let him be too certain of how he stood with her — if she 
had let him see too plainly the pleasure his words gave 
her that night; she had heard it said that one was apt to tire of 
love too freely given. Or could it be that he had found out 
that he was mistaken in his own feelings, and took this method 
of letting her know it? She longed to lay the whole matter 
before Alice, whose claims to superior wisdom in such matters 
she tacitly admitted, and ask her opinion about it; but she 
dared not take the risk of bringing a spell of the blues on Alice 
again. So she carried the letter back in her hand (it might 
have been posted up beside the rules and regulations of the 
hotel, for aught she cared now), and as it didn’t require any 
second, third, or fourth readings, laid it away in her trunk till 
what seemed like a genteel time should have passed before she 
answered it. 


CHAPTER X X 


OTHER PEOPLE S BATTLES 



T was well for Jean that after 
her long- siege of nursing she 
had a month of rest and recre- 
ation; for when she opened 
school again her one room 
;was full to overflowing, 
and before the end of the 
first week she had to ask 
the board for another 
room and an assistant. 

When it became known 
that an assistant was to be 
appointed a strange thing 
happened; several of the 
girls in town whom Jean 
had always regarded as 
beyond the reach of cares 
and anxieties such as her 
own, applied for the place. Almost all of them professed to 
want it for some trivial reason, one to enable herself to take 
art lessons, another to make money with which to buy ma- 
terial for fancy work, and so on, but one more candid than the 
rest was so disappointed when she found the place had been 
filled that she begged Jean to give up her own place to her, 
urging that Jean had had the benefit of the public money long 
enough, and ought to give some one else a chance. Though 


( 261 ) 


262 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


Jean sympathized with both the necessities and the poor little 
pride thus brought to her knowledge, she would not have been 
human if she had not found some comfort in knowing that 
after all her own lot was not so much worse than that of her 
neighbors. 

Alice’s absence made a great vacancy in the home life, and 
it was a fortunate thing that they all had to be busy. Duke 
and Archie ate early breakfast in order to get to work in time, 
and as head of a school of two departments, Jean had to 
be busier than ever; but as they were all working with hearty 
good-will and for a common cause, the time the^ had to spend 
together was enjoyed as it had never been before. Duke un- 
dertook to study mathematics, a branch in which he was 
woefully deficient, as a preparation for his college course later 
on. Although he was always tired after his day’s work, he 
would buckle down to his books after supper, and soon be- 
came so interested that he would even accept Archie’s assist- 
ance in knotty places. He had ceased to tease and worry 
Archie, and Jean and the mother were delighted to see such a 
good-fellowship springing up between them. 

It was a happy evening when, at the end of the first month, 
they all gathered around the table after supper to indite a 
letter which was to go with Alice’s money. Both the boys 
had collected their earnings for the occasion, and each insisted 
on sending her all they had made. But Jean urged them to 
put by something. 

No, Alice would need nice clothes, she was among strang- 
ers, and must not be mortified by having to appear shabby; 
then, too, she ought to have a little for recreation, they argued. 

But suppose she should be sick or there should be some 
other urgent call for money, wouldn’t it be a great thing to 
have it ready? Jean urged. Besides, Alice was young yet, 
and didn’t know how to manage, and if she had a superfluity 
she wouldn’t be under the necessity of learning. So at last 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


263 


Jean carried her point. Her own salary had been increased.and 
after raising the wages she had been paying Noona out of the 
garden money, she too had a few dollars to put by as a de- 
fense against the necessity, whose sharpness they had felt so 
keenly. 

Other happy times were when Alice’s letters came. She 
was so grateful for what they were doing for her and so sure 
that she was going to make a great singer of herself for their 
sakes. Soon her letters began to grow longer and to give de- 
tails of her daily life. She was finding pleasant acquaintances 
and beginning to see the sights of a great city. All she saw 
was remembered and faithfully recorded; for she well knew 
how interesting even the most trivial details would be to them. 
Now and then there were flashes of Alice’s old-time fun that 
had the genuine ring about them, and these were always 
hailed with delight as evidences that Alice was coming back 
to herself; as no one except Jean knew how much there was 
to come back from, so no one was so thankful as she. 

The only event that caused a ripple in the quiet current of 
family affairs that fall was the arrival of a letter relating to 
Rene. It came while they were all absent except the mother, 
but they had no sooner gotten in, in the afternoon, than she 
handed it out, saying in a voice full of indignation: 

“Just read that, and see if you ever heard of such effrontery 
in your lives!” 

Jean opened the letter and found that it was from a minister 
living in the country near their plantation. The writer began 
by saying that Rene had been converted and was a reformed 
man; and he proceeded to offer proofs of the soundness of his 
conversion, the climax of which was that he wished to become 
a preacher. 

Duke gave vent to a prolonged whistle, while the mother ex- 
claimed: 

“Just wait and see what all that leads up to!” 


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OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


Jean, continuing, read in substance, that the young man 
lacked the means to provide himself with the necessary outfit 
for beginning the work. The writer had urged him to appeal 
to his rich relatives, but he had refused to do so, saying that 
they had cast him off in his degradation to starve, and while 
he couldn’t blame them, he had nothing to hope for from 
them. But the writer couldn’t believe that they would be so 
untouched by the story of the young man’s regeneration as 
not to be willing to extend the helping hand to him in the be- 
ginning of his career of usefulness. The writer then pro- 
ceeded in the most solemn manner to urge upon Rene’s step- 
mother the Christian duty of sending one hundred and fifty 
dollars to enable him to begin his work. 

Jean stopped in utter amazement, and Duke burst into a 
roar. 

“Rich relatives, indeed! How dare he so misrepresent me 
in my poverty!” said the mother, excitedly. 

‘'And to say that we had cast him off to starve!” said Jean. 

“You don’t see through it all, mamma, and you, Jean, as I 
do. It simply means that Richard is himself again, has got 
his wits cleared once more, and is working the reform racket 
for all it is worth,” Duke said, between his explosions of mirth, 
and added: “Just turn that letter over to me; I want the priv- 
ilege of answering it.” 

“What would you say?” asked Jean, who could see nothing 
amusing in the affair. 

“I’d open the gentleman’s eyes; I’d show Rene up in his 
true colors, and put a stop to his preaching game.” 

“That wouldn’t be right,” said Archie, who had been a 
serious but silent listener so far. 

“Why wouldn’t it? You see he’s acting the hypocrite by 
the way he misrepresents us!” said Duke hotly. 

“But he may be trying to do better; anyway, we ought not 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


265 


to deprive him of the opportunity. If I had the money I’d send 
it to him,” Archie said earnestly. 

“I’m glad you haven’t got it, then,” said Jean. “Because,” 
she added, under Archie’s look of surprise and rebuke, “it 
would only be giving him the means of dissipating.” Then in 
his own gentle, charitable way Archie took up the cause of the 
absent, and argued it so well that the others became sufficiently 
softened towards the culprit to give the matter of answering 
the letter into Archie’s hands; and when he read his letter 
aloud to them next morning, all had to acknowledge that it 
was a lesson in charity that they sadly needed. 

A social event which aroused the interest of the little town 
in the early fall was Louis Matthews’ wedding. It took place 
in a distant city, but as his mother and sister talked of it for 
weeks before and after it occurred, it created as much stir 
among his old friends as if it had happened where they could 
see all the rich dresses and grand proceedings for themselves. 
Everybody agreed that Louis had made another stride towards 
fortune in marrying the daughter of a rich merchant, and some 
shrewdly guessed that he had selected his bride with a view to 
advancing his financial interests. But whether that was so or 
not, he was regarded as exceedingly lucky; for according to 
Annie, his bride was everything that was lovely and lovable. 
Jean and her mother wondered why Mrs. Matthews and 
Annie, or at least one of them, didn’t go to the wedding; but 
as no explanation was offered, they of course didn’t ask. 

The weeks and months flew fast, but their flight brought no 
change to Jean, except the gradual fading of all the bright 
colors from her dream of love. She and Robert continued to 
exchange friendly, commonplace letters, such as any friends 
who had had the same associations and read the same books 
might have written. For a time, Jean continued to look for 
some expression that would recall that sweet summer-night 
when the moon seemed to have wasted all her radiance and 


m 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


the flowers their fragrance. After she had looked in vain for 
many weeks, she began to tell herself that she was unreason- 
able, that she ought not to expect the same display of affection 
now that he was assured of his standing with her; but it was 
hard to feed a heart on such husks. 

Of his business prospects Robert said never a word, and it 
was only through Judge Bruce that she heard at different 
times that he had found quite a friend in an old lawyer whom 
the judge had known in his younger days; that this friend had 
offered him the use of his library, and was throwing business 
into his hands; that he had made his maiden speech and won 
his first case; and, after some months, that the old lawyer, 
having tested his willingness to work hard, had taken him into 
partnership, and so made one condition of success, plenty of 
work, sure. Jean carefully concealed her ignorance of these 
personal matters, and was surprised to find how little pleasure 
their knowledge gave her when derived from a third person. 

When Christmas came, with its welcome breathing space, 
it brought much cheer and rejoicing. From the far away city 
Alice sent a box that showed that she had scrimped and saved 
in the use of her money in order to be able to remember them. 
Robert sent a book that Jean had long wanted, but as there was 
only a conventional season’s greeting accompanying it, she 
laid it away with little feeling of pleasure. The season always 
brought to mind that other Christmas of deprivation and dis- 
tress, and now that she could command some little means, she 
didn’t neglect her opportunity: half a score of the shabbiest 
and most neglected of her flock received their only pleasure at 
her hands, and she herself found her sweetest joy in this 
“better part.” 

In the early days of January, two guests came to Mrs. 
Matthews unexpectedly; they were Mrs. Louis and her 
mother, Mrs. Durant. They were on their way to Florida 
for the young wife’s health, and stopped to wait for Louis, 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


267 


who would join them as soon as business permitted him to 
leave the city. Their coming was most untimely for Mrs. 
Matthews, who was without a cook. She had never had a 
kitchen built adjoining the house, as everybody else had done, 
and generally lost her cook in bad weather, in consequence. 
Annie paid Jean a visit the afternoon after they came, and 
though she talked with great feeling about her mother’s wor- 
ries and perplexities, it never seemed to occur to her that she 
might go home and help her. 

In the preoccupation of her busy life Jean didn’t find an op- 
portunity to call upon the newcomers for some time, but she 
heard a great deal about them from her mother, who took 
great interest in them and visited them whenever the weather 
permitted. All through the winter days they were looking for 
Louis, and getting very impatient over his unaccountable de- 
lay. The bright February days came and still he didn’t come; 
the young wife was often in bed now, though she wasn’t sick, 
she said, only tired; she would get well when Louis came and 
took her on to Florida. 

Mrs. Conway grew very impatient over Jean’s neglect of 
the courtesy due their friends, and one Saturday Jean laid 
aside all other duties to pay the visit. After a homely old 
Southern fashion, she carried along a tray full of dainties for 
the sick bride. 

She was shocked by the careworn look of Mrs. Matthews, 
who opened the door for her. 

“I’m glad you’ve come, Jean, though the visit won’t be any 
pleasure to you; they notice every little thing, and Lilia has 
spoken of your not coming to see her several times,” she said 
in a relieved tone. She had ushered Jean into the parlor while 
speaking, and now opened one of the folding doors iqto the 
back parlor and disappeared. A breath of rich, heavy odors 
through the open door gave Jean a vivid impression of the 


268 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


luxurious habits of her friends’ visitors. In a few moments 
Mrs. Matthews came back, saying: 

“Come in, Jean; Lilia isn’t feeling well today and says she 
wouldn’t see anybody except you.” 

As Jean went in a fair-haired girl raised herself upon her 
elbow in bed and held out her hand, smiling. 

“I thought you were not coming to see me at all!” she said, 
as she held up her face to be kissed. 

Jean noticed the brightness of her brown eyes, the perfect 
arch of her delicate dark brows, in such striking contrast to 
her blond hair, and the glowing color in her cheeks as she 
took the hot little hand and stooped to kiss the pretty mouth. 
As she raised up she was introduced to the mother, a short, 
stout woman, who felt either her flesh or her dignity too much 
to rise. She had sparkling black eyes, behind gold glasses, 
and a clear red and white complexion, which, with the aid of 
an elaborate coiffure, gave her a striking and youthful appear- 
ance. She was richly dressed, and occupied herself in keeping 
her bangle bracelets in place. The room had been hastily 
fitted up as a bedroom for the invalid, and Jean saw that it 
contained the prettiest and best of everything about the house. 

“I have wanted to come often, but I am a business person, 
you know,” she said, in reply to Mrs. Louis’ greeting, as she 
took a seat by the bed. Mrs. Matthews had taken the tray 
from her at the door, and now brought it to the bed and re- 
moved the napkin. 

“But you haven’t been too busy to send me nice things, and 
now you have brought me some more. Oh! what lovely jel- 
lies! Do you know, I have never appreciated that funny 
Southern way of sending things to one’s neighbors till since 
I’ve been at mother Matthews’? She does have such abomin- 
able cooks, you know!” replied Mrs. Louis. She had taken a 
glass of the gelatine and was eating it with a relish. 

“Hand me that other glass!” said Mrs. Durant to Mrs. 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


269 


Matthew^, in much the same tone she would have used to a 
servant. 

“Now, mamma! That is real mean of you! To eat up every 
little nice thing that is brought me!” said the sick girl, quer- 
ulously. 

“Fm not going to indulge any such selfishness in you, 
Lilia!” said the elder woman, proceeding to eat the gelatine 
with the gusto of a dainty gourmand. 

“Do you know, she ate that last bird you sent me; and I 
would never have known anything about it if Reese had not 
felt so outraged about it that she couldn’t keep from telling 
me.” 

Reese, the maid who, in lace-cap and apron, sat on the other 
side of the bed and busied herself with little attentions to the 
sick girl, appeared neither to hear nor to comprehend what 
was said. 

“Well, HI send you another,” said Jean, dropping naturally 
into the tone she would use to a sick child. “Indeed, if you 
flatter me by liking my cooking, I’ll be apt to inflict specimens 
of it on you frequently; for I’m very vain of my one accom- 
plishment.” 

“I wish you would exert yourself to get Mrs. Matthews a 
good cook. She seems to have neither tact nor authority with 
servants, and we are actually suffering here,” said Mrs. Du- 
rant. 

Mrs. Matthews had gone out of the room, for which Jean 
felt thankful, as she hastened to say: 

“You found Mrs. Matthews in an unfortunante situation; 
but it is one to which everyone is subject now; she usually has 
very good servants.” 

“It is to be hoped she doesn’t live in this state all the time!” 
Mrs. Durant said, as the subject of her ungracious remarks 
reentered the room. 

“I have heard a great deal about you and have just been dy- 


270 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


ing with curiosity to see you!” said Mrs. Louis. “Louis 
says,” she continued, in answer to Jean’s look of inquiry, “that 
you are the noblest, most unselfish woman in the world.” 

“Which only shows how little he knows about me!” laughed 
Jean. 

“Oh! that was when we quarreled and he wanted to make me 
feel bad!” said the young wife, airily. “Or course, under the 
circumstances, I took all he said about how desperately he 
used to be in love with you and what a splendid wife you would 
make with a grain of salt, as they say.” Jean could but be 
embarrassed by this humiliating revelation, made so unblush- 
ingly, and in the presence of Louis’ mother, too. 

“I think that was very unkind to both you and me; for of 
course you wouldn’t be disposed to like me after that,” she 
said. 

“Oh! I guess he had good cause, for I nearly worried him 
to death by receiving attentions from young men and dancing, 
just as I did before I was married. He wanted to just shut 
me up in a box, you know — have me act according to all the 
old-fashioned notions with which he had been brought up ! and 
I had no notion of submitting to such imposition.” 

During this recital Jean glanced uneasily at the servant who 
still preserved an expression of utter inattention, and then at 
the mothers. 

“How shocked you look!” exclaimed Mrs. Louis, laughing. 
“I know you think you will never have such fusses when you 
marry. But I can tell you he treats me differently now; they 
all let me do just as I please, because they think I’m go- 
ing to die. Do I look as if I were going to die?” she asked, 
still laughing. 

“I don’t know anyone who looks less like it!” Jean an- 
swered, glad she could say so much truthfully. 

Then the sick girl talked of her trip to Florida, what she 
had heard of its beautiful skies and beaches, how she would 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


271 


enjoy the fine boating, and how well and strong she would be 
when it was time to go to the summer resorts. But she was 
tired, so tired of waiting for Louis; his failure to come was all 
that stood between her and strength. Her mother, who had 
sat silent except when spoken to directly, joined in her griev- 
ances, and then the daughter turned her complaints against 
the mother for not going on without him. Mrs. Matthews 
had quietly slipped out of the room, and Jean was glad when 
she found an opportunity to take leave. 

“Come and see me often, and when I get stronger I’ll dress 
up for you some day and let you see how pretty I am!” the 
sick girl said, with childish vanity, as she bade Jean good-bye. 

Mrs. Matthews was waiting at the door, and accompanied 
Jean to the gate. 

‘ Couldn’t you, as a great favor, Jean, let me have Noona 
for a few weeks, till they leave?” she asked, with a troubled 
face. 

“Even if I could spare her, which I can’t, she wouldn’t suit 
you, Mrs. Matthews; she’s a very poor cook,” Jean answered. 

“Then who prepares all the little delicacies you’ve been 
sending Lilia?” 

“I do myself.” 

“Well, you are certainly a model woman; I only wish Annie 
Matthews were another such!” said Annie’s mother. 

“There is nothing like having to learn to do things,” said 
Jean, significantly. But Mrs. Matthews’ mind was back amid 
her troubles. 

“I am nearly worried to death!” she said, sadly. “They 
are accustomed to having everything just as they want it, and 
don’t know how to make allowances. They say just anything 
that pops into their minds, before that stony-faced minx, 
Reese, and she carries it all to the kitchen; the consequence is 
I can’t keep a cook long enough to teach her anything. I’m 
in the kitchen half the time myself, and Annie Matthews won’t 


272 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


turn a hand to help me! after I’ve shielded and humored her 
as I have, too! I’m going to write Louis that he must come 
and relieve me of this burden.” 

“Do you think his wife is strong enough to travel?” Jean 
asked. 

“Heaven only knows! I’m afraid she will not be if he waits 
much longer. But she has brought it all on herself by her im- 
prudence. You heard how she talks; she has given poor 
Louis a world of trouble already, and I suppose she will give 
him a world more.” 

“Probably she will settle down after a while,” suggested 
Jean, comfortingly. 

“She is not one of the settling-down kind,“ said Louis’ 
mother, sadly. “She knows nothing in the world but pleas- 
ure-seeking. But I do wish, Jean, you’d get Noona to send 
me somebody who can cook. I’m just worn out, body and 
soul, and if this lasts much longer I’ll be in bed.” 

Jean went again in a few days, out of compassion for the 
poor young thing who was so illy prepared to endure the trials 
of a sick bed. But Mrs. Louis had apparently satisfied' her 
curiosity during the first visit, and felt no more interest in 
Jean, except as the recipient of her complaints against Louis 
and her mother, and her plans for future pleasure. It was 
useless to try to interest her in anything else, and Jean finally 
dropped into the habit of listening as sympathetically as she 
could. 

The mild February days passed and the blustery March ones 
came, without the invalid being able to carry out her promise 
to put on one of the many pretty dresses with which her trunks 
were filled; and then under good old Dr. Bardwell's advice, 
the rector was sent for to talk co her of spiritual matters. But 
the sick girl had no mind for such topics, though she was not 
alarmed by the rector’s visit. She was so sure she would get 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


273 


strong again and have many, many years in which to think 
of such things. 

But slowly, as the opening of the buds on the trees, and alas! 
as surely, her strength waned. There was no pain, nothing 
unpleasant to mark the terrible waste that was sapping her 
young life, but Jean could see its advance from visit to visit. 

Louis’ old friends had begun to talk about the strangeness 
of his conduct in staying away when it was evident to all that 
the end of his married life was' fast approaching, when the 
mystery was explained one morning by the statement that 
his house had failed. The paper containing the announcement 
said the firm had been embarrassed for several months, and 
had struggled hard to weather the gale. The news of the 
disaster was kept from the invalid, and when, a week later, 
Louis came, she began apparently to take a new hold on life. 
She was so sure, poor thing, that now she could go on to 
Florida, and regain health and strength. For several days 
she rallied marvelously, was even able to get up and dress, and 
her anxiety to be taken on to her land of promise was pathetic ; 
but Dr. Bardwell forbade them to move her till her strength 
was established, and soon his wisdom was demonstrated. In 
less than a week the reaction came, and the feeble flame of life 
dropped low in the socket. For days she hung upon the bor- 
der land, still never realizing the approach of the inevitable; 
she listened to the words of the rector, and even prayed as she 
was directed; but whenever weakness permitted her to talk her 
words were of life — always of life and renewed strength. And 
so one bright morning she passed out of the life whose sig- 
nificance she had never understood, into the eternity, to which 
she had never given a serious thought. When they laid her 
away amid a mass of flowers in the Matthews’ vault, Jean felt 
that there were many things worse than a youth of depriva- 
tions and disappointments. 

When it was all over, and Louis and Mrs. Durant returned 


274 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


home, Mrs. Matthews’ health began to wane. She was much 
distressed over the failure of Louis’ house, and could talk of 
little else. Annie, too, seemed depressed in spirits, and their 
troubles appeared to be driving mother and daughter from 
each other. Jean noticed that Mrs. Matthews was constantly 
drawing comparisons between Annie and herself to the form- 
er’s detriment, and making cutting remarks about girls who 
had had so much done for them and didn’t appreciate their 
parents’ sacrifices. Annie never replied to these thrusts, but 
her face would assume a hard expression, which showed that 
she was growing callous. One day when the cut was so patent 
that it wasn’t possible to pretend to misunderstand it, Jean 
ventured to remonstrate, reminding the mother how she had 
kept Annie from learning to be useful. Mrs. Matthews broke 
forth into such a torrent of complaints and reproaches, that 
Annie left the room precipitately, and Jean didn’t again at- 
tempt to heal the breach between them. Their home wasn’t 
the cheerful place it had been, but the memory of their kind- 
ness during her own trials made Jean a constant visitor. 

The trouble with her mother, the knowledge of Jean’s sym- 
pathy, and probably the disposition of a weak nature to lean 
upon a stronger, all served to draw Annie closer to her old 
schoolmate than she had been in happier days, and after some 
weeks of close intimacy she surprised Jean one evening by that 
most interesting of all announcements: 

“I am going to be married.” 

“Sure enough?” asked Jean, showing much of the surprise 
she felt. 

“Yes! And you are the first person I’ve told.” 

“I certainly appreciate your confidence, and congratulate 
you with all my heart!” Jean returned, with eager interest. 

“You won’t when you know more about it, I’m afraid!” 
Annie replied, laughing a little constrainedly. 

“Why?” 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


275 


“You are going to say my fiance is too old for me.” 

“I supposed you were going to reward Tom Rutland’s con- 
stancy at last. But maybe it is some one you met while you 
were gone?” 

“Neither. It is General Burkhead.” 

“You are joking!” said Jean, in a shocked voice. 

“No, I’m not! Didn’t I tell you you wouldn’t congratulate 
me?” 

“He is old enough to be your grand-father! You can’t care 
anything for him!” 

“He is rich, and will give me everything I want,” Annie re- 
plied, her face taking on a hard look. 

“But riches are not everything — not anything, compared 
with love and happiness!” 

“I don’t know anything about love. Mamma says a woman 
loves her husband if he is good and kind, and provides well for 
her.” 

“But why marry him just because he is rich? Why not 
wait? You may find some one you will love, who will be rich, 
too! Surely, the chance is worth waiting for!” urged Jean, 
with the force of her own convictions. 

“Now you are coming to the point of the whole matter!” 
Annie answered sadly. “You see, I can’t afford to wait. 
Mamma has spent everything on Louis and me, and his failure 
has left her involved. Don’t ever let her know I told you, but 
we will have to give up everything, even our home.” 

“But you have a good education and can work, and surely 
Louis can take care of his mother!” Jean said, when she had 
somewhat overcome her surprise. 

“No, I don’t want to work; I couldn’t bear to have to strug- 
gle for myself. I’m not strong and brave like you, Jean. Be- 
sides, I am obliged to have luxuries and handsome things 
about me; I will be happy if I have them.” 


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“But your mother will not let you make such a sacrifice of 
yourself — when she finds it out.” 

“You don’t know mamma!” said Annie, bitterly. “As I tell 
you, she has spent everything on me, in the expectation that I 
would make a brilliant match, and when I came home without 
having caught a rich beau, she reproached me bitterly. Even 
if I had the courage to go to work, which I haven’t, I couldn’t 
stand to have mamma constantly ding-donging my wasted op- 
portunities in my ears as she would do. Besides, she knows 
of it, and says it is a fine offer, and it is my duty to accept it 
under the circumstances.” 

“But it is so wrong!” persisted Jean, making no effort to 
conceal the shock the recital of such worldliness gave her. 

“Oh! I haven’t such straightlaced ideas about that as you. 
Now, it would be wrong if I loved some one else; but I don’t. 
If he is kind to me, I can love him well enough to get along, 
I suppose. Of course, I’ll have to take the chances of his be- 
ing kind, but what woman doesn’t?” 

“But love would help you to bear a great deal, if he wasn’t 
kind, I should think.” 

“No, it wouldn’t! Unkindness is harder to bear from one 
we love than from anyone else!” Annie spoke emphatically, 
and for the time the two girls changed characters, Annie be- 
coming mentor and Jean listening thoughtfully. 

“Don’t you think I’m right, so far at least?” Annie asked. 

“I don’t know!” said Jean, sadly. 

“Well, I am so confident that I am that if I were just de- 
voted to anyone but thought he wouldn’t make a kind hus- 
band, I wouldn’t nwry him. If General Burkhead doesn’t 
prove to be all I could wish, I shall certainly feel glad that my 
feelings are not involved. But at present, I am not going to 
take any but a cheerful view of the matter. He is to give me 
a new house, and General Burkhead says it shall be the 
finest in town; I am going on a bridal tour and buy lots of 


OTHER PEOPLE’S BATTLES 


277 


beautiful things to go into it. You haven’t any idea, Jean, 
what magnificent furniture they do make now, and how per- 
fectly splendid a house can be made to look!” 

And while Annie rattled on about mirrors and rugs and 
blooded horses, Jean longed to say something convincing 
about love and companionship; but how could she when there 
was in her own heart only a big, aching spot answering to the 
name of happiness? 

Robert didn’t come home that summer, he was too busy, his 
father said; neither did Alice. She was going to continue her 
studies during the summer, and it was too expensive a trip to 
be taken, just for the two weeks she would take for resting; so 
she decided to accept the invitation of a fellow-student and 
spend the time at a summer home on the sea-shore. It was a 
great disappointment to the home folks, but Alice was so en- 
thusiastic over her studies, and wrote such glowing accounts 
of her visit to her friend, that they felt repaid for the sacrifice. 

With Alice gone, Jean’s connection with society was pretty 
well broken; she spent much of the time with Annie that sum- 
mer, helping on the dainty wardrobe that was being prepared 
for the early fall wedding. Once when there was a rupture 
between Annie and her antiquated lover, Jean urged her not 
to renew the engagement; but Annie only laughed and shut 
the prison-door on herself again. 

At times Jean felt tempted to reciprocate Annie’s confidence, 
but as the weeks passed she thought more and more about 
Annie’s views regarding happiness after marriage, and finally 
decided not to risk her own peace of mind with one who 
showed so little of the affection he professed as Robert did. 
The determination brought pangs whose sharpness she had 
not anticipated, but, she reasoned, it was better to suffer 
sharply for a while and have it all over. After that she felt 
it would not be kind to Robert to mention the episode to any 


• one. 


CHAPTER XXI 


EXPLANATIONS 

HEN it became generally known 
that Annie was going to “sell 
herself to old General Burk- 
head, 1 ” as the more candid of 
her neighbors phrased it, Tom 
Rutland hastily settled up his 
affairs and went West. But 
the preparations for the wed- 
ding went merrily forward in 
spite of poor Tom’s despera- 
tion. It was to be a grand 
affair, with decorations, flower- 
girls, ushers, attendants ga- 
lore, and a grand reception 
afterwards. Jean had prom- 
ised to be maid of honor; 
as the time came nearer and the marriage grew more and more 
repugnant to her she tried to beg off; but Annie held her to 
her promise. 

So one lovely September night, she put on the pretty white 
dress she had prepared, and hastened with all the rest of the 
town to the wedding of May and November. 

Annie was radiant in white silk and diamonds, the latter 
the gift of the groom, and seemed like anything but a lamb 
led to the sacrifice; indeed, she was more a mistress of cere- 
monies than anything else, and even at the church door was 



( 278 ) 


EXPLANATIONS 


279 


chiefly concerned to have everyone carry, out properly his or 
her part of the elaborate pageant she had arranged. It was 
all beautiful, so beautiful that it was not till the solemn tones 
of the officiating clergyman fell upon her ear that Jean began 
to realize the full import of the irrevocable words. Faint and 
sick at heart she glanced at Annie, but her face expressed 
only satisfaction and triumph; to her the scene meant only 
jewels and laces, equipages and a mansion. 

It was all over at last, and Jean was relieved to find herself 
marching down the aisle with the best man who quickly 
brought her to herself by exclaiming: 

“Poor Rutland! Poor fool! I could see his white face 
peering out from every corner while that farce was going on. 
He ought to have staid here and witnessed the whole thing; 
I think it would have cured him.” 

“Hush! Do hush! They will hear you!” said Jean, as she 
almost stepped on the bride’s train. 

“Oh, he can’t hear and she wouldn’t care if she did! You 
acted more like a bride than she; I thought once I was 
going to have the honor of carrying you out.” 

And so they mocked and jested at the wedding-feast, pity- 
ing the poor fellow who for love of the bride had fled the 
country, condemning the woman who had preferred riches 
to true love, and ridiculing the old man to whom she had 
given a purchased troth. 

When supper was over and the happy (?) couple had de- 
parted amid a shower of rice and slippers and a round of 
cheers that sounded strangely like jeers, Louis offered Jean 
his arm for a promenade. He had given the bride away and 
escorted his mother from the church but had taken little part 
in the festivities beyond the barest civilities to his mother’s 
guests. He was much changed since the summer of Elise’s 
visit; he looked older by many years and had lost the very 
perceptible air of self-importance which had marked the period 


280 


EXPLANATIONS 


of his success. Evidently the reverses of fortune were de- 
veloping the better side of him. 

' “I had the pleasure of seeing Alice a few weeks ago!” he 
said as they stepped into the lantern-lighted yard. 

“Did you? Where?” Jean exclaimed in surprise. 

“I was in B — on business and gave myself the pleasure of 
a call on her.” 

“So you could tell us about her when you came to the 
wedding! That was kind indeed,” said Jean gratefully. 

“I’m sorry I can’t claim any such disinterested motive; I 
went to ask her assistance in an affair of my own,” he said 
smiling. How much more manly he looked with that slightly 
careworn expression, Jean thought as she tried to smoothe 
the matter over by saying: 

“Well, I’m none the less grateful for the pleasure your 
visit gave Alice, and the news you are now able to give me 
of her. Did she appear well and happy?” 

“She looks beautiful! Of course she has always been pretty, 
but it would surprise you to see how her residence in a city 
has improved her. We went out together one evening and 
she was the handsomest woman in the house, to my taste. 
And she seems as happy as a lark; her wit and vivacity are 
as great attractions as her beauty.” 

“I am so glad to hear all that; for if she were not pleasantly 
or happily situated, she wouldn’t let us know it when we are 
working hard to enable her to stay there as you doubtless 
know. But she would be pretty apt to tell you if she didn’t 
like her surroundings.” Jean hesitated in saying this last; 
for the feeling that she was covering up her real cause of 
anxiety about Alice made her feel as if she were fibbing. 

“She didn’t strike me as an individual who had any quarrel 
with the world whatever. But haven’t you some curiosity as 
to the cause in which I wanted to enlist her sympathies, Jean?” 


EXPLANATIONS 


281 


Louis was indeed more like himself of old, Jean thought 
as she noted the use of her first name. 

“I thought you would tell me if you wanted me to know,” 
she replied. 

“Would it surprise you to know that it had to do with a 
love affair?” he asked. 

They had reached the dimly lighted summer-house and 
paused, Jean released his arm and stood facing him as she 
said: 

“If it did, I venture to say you got little encouragement 
from Alice; for she is ambitious and has ideas of a career.” 
She spoke confidently, as if she herself would discourage any 
attempt to draw Alice from her purpose; for all unknown to 
herself, much of her own old ambition had centered around 
the younger sister. Louis stood gazing down at the fair, 
strong face which the dainty bridesmaid’s gown and chaplet 
set off so well, thinking how much of courage and helpfulness 
there was in its womanly lineaments. 

“But she has influence with you! O, Jean! have you for- 
gotten our old boy and girl love?” He spoke with more 
feeling than she had given him credit for possessing of late 
years, and she hesitated some moments, trying to assure her-, 
self that she had not misunderstood the import of his words. 

“Yes! All that is gone with the rest of my childish fool- 
ishness — gone like childhood itself.” The voice was calm and 
kind but decided like Jean herself. 

“Of course!” said the man before her, nothing daunted by 
the coldness of her reply. “It was foolish of me to ask; you 
would not be the strong, brave woman you are, if you had 
not cast out all thought of me when I myself proved recreant. 
And because the love and hope of those old days have returned 
to me so vividly of late is no reason why they should still hold 
a place with you. I have gone far astray in my estimate of 
people, but I have had lessons of late which have cleared my 


282 


EXPLANATIONS 


judgment, I come now to offer you the love of my manhood. 
I will value your love above everything on earth and return 
it with all the devotion of which my nature is capable, if you 
will give me the opportunity of winning it.” 

“You must not think me unappreciative because I have to 
say it is impossible.” 

“You are prejudiced against me on account of the foolish 
pride and vanity I have been guilty of exhibiting.” The fact 
of his speaking of them seemed good evidence of his having 
been cured of his follies, so when Jean answered her voice 
was very kind. 

“Possibly I may be. But — I have determined never to 
marry.” 

“Then I shall make it my object to overcome both your 
prejudice and your determination. I am a poor man now, 
but if you will let me I will make you a rich woman yet. I 
know I have the ability, and with the lessons my misfortunes 
have taught me and the help of such a wife as you would 
make, I could aspire to the topmost round of the ladder. So 
it need not surprise you if I am persistent beyond ordinary 
lovers.” He spoke with the confidence of returning hope arid 
Jean might have let him continue to delude himself if she had 
not had a conscience. 

“I must tell you frankly that that will be of no avail,” she 
said earnestly. 

“Do you mean that some one is ahead of me?” he asked. 

“So far as a promise Js concerned, no! But in my esteem, 
yes! Now you will believe that I appreciate the honor you 
do me and am sincere in the answer I make,” she said. 

Her old friend bowed his head in silent acquiescence and 
offered his arm to escort her back to the house. As they 
passed among the merry groups beneath the lantern-hung 
trees he asked bitterly: 


EXPLANATIONS 


283 


“Why is it my miserable fate never to appreciate the real 
worth of anything till it is beyond my reach?” 

“I don’t know, unless it is that it is your share of life’s hard 
lessons; you know we all have to learn them sooner or later.” 
Her voice and manner spoke the sympathy of experience, but 
Louis escorted her to the dressing-room in silence. 

The best man had returned from seeing the couple off and 
Jean got ready to go home. As she bade her good night, Mrs. 
Matthews drew her up to kiss her and whispered: 

“What did you say to my boy?” 

“The only thing I could say,” Jean answered with a little 
catch between the words. In return Louis’ mother gave her 
a little impatient push that expressed both anger and disap- 
pointment. 

Everybody was asleep when Jean got home and/putting out 
the lights she went to her room and sat down to think. The 
most surprising thing that had ever come within her experi- 
ence was the change in Louis. He had evidently undergone 
the conversion to common sense that had been such a slow 
and painful process in her own case. Nothing less, in her opin- 
ion, could account for his wanting to marry her. It must have 
been hard discipline, indeed, that had reduced that high spirit 
and she sympathized with his sufferings. Had she done well 
to answer him as she did? He seemed to be deeply in earnest; 
might it not be that here were the love and sympathy for 
which she longed? Might she not in time have come to ap- 
preciate and return them? 

“No, no!” the heart within her made answer. “There is 
only one heart in all the world whose love I crave, and while 
that is withheld all else is but mockery; I am joined unto my 
idol, let me alone.” 

Then judgment took sides with the heart and called to mind 
how Louis had staid away from his girl-wife while she was 
sinking into the grave ; and also the shameful quarrels between 


284 


EXPLANATIONS 


them, which the poor foolish thing had had no more discre- 
tion than to reveal to outsiders. After all Louis might not 
be so changed as he seemed; for what did he ask her to marry 
him for but to help him build up a great fortune? No, it were 
better to help Robert Bruce lead a good and useful life, and 
if that might not be without such heartaches as had been hers 
for months now, why! there remained the blessed privilege of 
taking care of the mother and helping the other children on 
in their struggle with the world. 

In a few weeks Annie and her husband were back in town, 
offering a shining mark to the gossips, to whom it soon be- 
came apparent that Annie’s path was not to be one of roses. 
It was noticed that she seldom appeared out without Gen. 
Burkhead, and that they didn’t go where Annie had been 
accustomed to going; she deserted her old place in the choir 
and resigned from the Social Circle. It was evident that if 
the General had condescended to step down among the young 
people and be one of the boys before securing his prey, he 
now intended that Annie should step up among the old people 
and conform to his tastes and ideas. Jean soon came to have 
a hearty dislike for his smooth, smiling, but heavy face, with 
its cold, white blue eyes, and found no pleasure in being with 
Annie when he was about as he nearly always was. Annie, 
however, did not appear to feel her bonds; they had brought 
back plans for the fine house they were going to build and 
she seemed carried away with the prospect of tiled floors, 
stained-glass windows, and other magnificences of which the 
little town had only heard as yet. She had a handsome car- 
riage and horses too, and nearly congested the street the first 
time she appeared with a coachman in livery. 

Jean didn’t know whether she was glad or not when, after 
having driven for days looking at lots everywhere, Gen. Burk- 
head bought the square next their new home, and a city 
architect and a host of workmen were set to work. 


EXPLANATIONS 


285 


Towards the holidays, however, she was recalled to the 
consideration of her own affairs by the announcement in one 
of Robert’s letters that he was coming home on a visit. Would 
it be the Robert of old who came, or the friendly, but cool, 
individual with whom she had been exchanging letters of late? 
Upon the answer to that question her future hinged and she 
soon found it intruding upon her thoughts at most inoppor- 
tune times. All through the preparations for the holidays it 
kept rapping at her heart till her pulses set themselves in time 
to it. How would it be? Would she be able to conceal the 
trepidation and anxiety that were taking possession of her 
when he did come? 

He had not said when she might expect him, and one 
morning as she was busy dressing dolls for the little Jenkinses 
she saw him enter the gate. Dispatching Kit to summon 
Noona to the door, she watched him up the walk with a 
strange feeling of unfamiliarity. He looked older, more 
manly, probably on account of the slight whiskers shading 
his cheeks; was dressed with more regard to style and had the 
indefinable air which distinguishes the city man. From her 
vantage ground, Jean saw a look of interest, followed quickly 
by one of disappointment, sweep over his face as the door 
was opened for him. After giving Noona time to light the 
fire and retire, she crossed the hall with a shaky step, opened 
the door with cold fingers, and said in a voice which sounded 
constrained even to her own ears: 

“Howdy do!” 

Robert, who was looking at a picture of herself in her 
bridesmaid’s costume, turned with a sparkling face and a 
quick involuntary extension of both hands. But Jean’s eyes 
were upon the floor and she didn’t see the eager gesture; and 
when in shaking hands she looked up she met a gaze as con- 
strained and perplexed as her own. 


286 


EXPLANATIONS 


“I am glad to see you!” she said with an outward composure 
surprising to her inner, trepidating self, as they sat down. 

“Glad doesn’t express my feelings at all!” he answered. 
“I missed my home trip in the summer sadly and I’ve almost 
counted the hours since. But, as I explained to mother, it 
was my busiest season and I felt that it would not do to run 
off so soon after being taken into partnership.” 

It was on Jean’s lips to say: 

“But you didn’t explain to anyone else!” but she said in- 
stead: “How long has it been since you were here? Let 
me see!” 

“A year and a half almost exactly!” he said, thinking, 
“Could she really have forgotten?” 

“I shall never forget that awful morning after the wreck; 
I don’t know how I should have gotten through it without 
your kindness!” 

“We don’t call anything a kindness which it is a pleasure 
to us to do, do we?” he asked. 

“The fact that it is a pleasure doesn’t alter its character to 
the recipient,” Jean answered, and added as she got up and 
took a picture from the mantel: “How many things can 
happen in a year and a half! You would scarcely have known 
Alice after that illness, but see how well she looks now!” and 
she handed him an idealized Alice — idealized by all the arts 
and devices known to the photographer. 

“That is a fine likeness of you, Jean,” he said when he had 
admired Alice. 

“Do you think so? Our boys admired me in that dress 
and would have the picture taken for Alice’s sake.” 

“But you didn’t remember your friends!” 

“Yes I did! I gave your mother and Annie Matthews each 
one, and — let me see! Oh, yes! Noona begged me out of 
the last!” 

If she had been a flirt trying to pique him she would have 


EXPLANATIONS 


287 


been gratified by the change which passed over his face. But 
she was too unhappy herself as she remembered how his 
mother had asked when she received it: 

“May I send it to my boy?” and too proud to bestow even 
in a round about way something that had not been asked for 
she replied: 

“No, I would rather you wouldn’t.” It all came back in 
a flash and she was looking into the fire and not at him. 

Having begun by avoiding the subject nearest to both of 
them, it was surprising how many things they found to talk 
about while thinking only of one. 

“Mamma isn’t at home, but we will be glad to have you take 
dinner with us!” Jean said when he rose to go. 

“Thank you, no! I have a little business in town. But if 
I won't be making a nuisance of myself, I’d like to come again 
this afternoon. I can stay only a few days and, of course, I — 
want to be with you as much as possible.” 

He was drawing on his gloves as he spoke and staring at 
them with the same troubled look she had noticed in his 
greeting; there was the ghost of a sigh too, as he concluded. 

“If you don’t mind a stroll in the woods, you may come. 
I promised Duke and Archie to go with them to get some 
greens for decorating and they have taken a holiday this after- 
noon for the purpose,” Jean replied. 

“That will be capital!” he said, brightening. “What time 
will you go?” 

“Two o’clock is the time we intended, but we can wait an 
hour for you if you will be busy.” 

“No, I will be here promptly,” he said as he left. 

Jean watched him out of sight from behind the curtains. 
“Had she really seen Robert or was it somebody else? Was 
there any longer such a person as the Robert she remembered? 
Did time work such changes with everybody, and was she 
as different from her old self? What made this man so sad 


288 


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at times? How would it all end and when?” She was absent 
minded and quiet at dinner in spite of her efforts to enter 
into the jollity with which the youngsters looked forward to 
the ramble. 

The afternoon was perfect when she joined Robert on the 
porch; already Duke, Archie, Kit, and wheelbarrow, who 
had set out the back way were half-way across the field. 

“Let’s go by and see General Burkhead’s new house,” 
Robert said as he closed the gate behind them. 

The walls of the grand mansion had been rising rapidly of 
late and were beginning to show fine proportions. The archi- 
tect was on the ground and showed them over the whole place, 
pointing out its incipient beauties and dwelling at great length 
on the richness and elegance of the whole when finished. 
When they turned away to follow the boys to the woods, 
Robert said : 

“XLss Annie certainly proved herself a good financier.” 

“How do you mean?” Jean asked. 

“In selling herself she certainly got her full value,” he 
replied scornfully. 

“Ah, you are down on poor Annie like every one else; but 
I don’t think she is so much to be blamed,” Jean answered. 

They had come to a ditch dug for the drain pipes of the 
fine new house and as he stood reaching his hands across to 
assist her, all the pain of the past months flashed into his 
eyes and he exclaimed indignantly: 

“Surely you don’t pretend to justify her, good friends 
though you are, in such a mercenary marriage!” 

Jean took his hands, made a flying leap and as she landed 
at his side said: 

“I meant to say that Mrs. Matthews is more to be blamed 
than Annie. She brought Annie up to know nothing about 
work, to have a horror of it in fact, and to think that the whole 
of life consists in beautiful and luxurious surroundings; so 


EXPLANATIONS 


289 


what else was to be expected? Besides, Annie was heart free; 
she didn’t love anyone and it was her theory that a wife would 
love her husband if he were kind to her, regardless of whether 
she did so before she was married or not.” 

“Then why didn’t she give poor Tom the benefit of that 
philosophy?’ 

“Perhaps she thought General Burkhead would make the 
better husband of the two,” said Jean, loyally. They had 
entered a grove, and pointing to a fallen tree, Robert said: 

“Let’s sit here a while!” and added, as he helped her to a 
seat, “It’s a new idea to me that married people should be 
anything else than kind to each other. Why should two peo- 
ple who love each other not be. kind?” 

“I don’t know!” said Jean as she looked away with all her 
own pain in her eyes. “It’s a romantic idea that they always 
are, whether it holds good in real life or not. But people have 
such different ideas about things; what one would consider 
kind another would not.” 

She tried to speak in an impersonal sort of way, as if she 
were only philosophizing. But the next instant Robert 
brought the matter home to themselves by saying: 

“Well, we are romantic people, you and I; we believe in 
all good and ennobling sentiments and we are not going to 
let worldly-minded folk put us out of conceit with the best 
and sweetest part of life, are we?” 

“Not if we can help it,” said Jean, doubtfully. 

Robert studied her averted face a moment then with another 
ghost of a sigh said in an unelated tone: 

“I have come to tell you, Jean, that the boat is going to 
float.” 

“What boat?” she asked, in unfeigned ignorance. 

“The boat of my fortunes, the one in which you said you 
couldn’t agree to take passage till you saw whether it was 


290 


EXPLANATIONS 


going to the bottom or not,” he answered, without any attempt 
to conceal the pain the recital gave him. 

“Oh, no! Surely I didn’t say that!” she cried in a shocked 
voice, making a little gesture of dissent. 

“Didn’t you? I was stupid enough to so understand you!” 

“No! Let me see! I said something about my responsi- 
bilities, didn’t I? And then too, must see if the boat would 
float? I meant whether my own family could do without me. 
Oh! poor blundering me! How miserably mean and mercen- 
ary you must have thought me!” and Jean covered her hot 
and flushed face with her hands. 

Despite the fact that on the small form beside him rested the 
awful dignity of Founder and Head of the Public School of 
the City, Robert put his arm around it and kissed the cheek 
nearest him. 

“Don’t! Oh, please don’t!” she cried, moving away as 
fast as she could. 

“Forgive me! but I have been so utterly miserable and the 
relief was so unspeakable!” Robert said in a voice vibrant 
with feeling. 

“You surely can’t have any love or respect for me left,”- she 
said sadly. 

“You are mistaken. I believe I should still love you with 
all my heart, even if you were to act as Annie has done. But 
I haven’t believed it of you, though there were times when 
the miserable thought would come over me like a cloud, 
blotting o.ut every ray of sunshine in the world. I have fought 
for you against the evidences of my senses; and even in my 
greatest pain I haven’t blamed you; I felt that you were right 
in not being willing to tie yourself to a possible failure. My 
miserable fault has been that I allowed my pride to prevent 
me from asking an explanation until I should be able to tell 
you that success was fairly within my grasp and ask you to 


EXPLANATIONS 


291 


marry me at once. I have certainly suffered the penalty of 
my folly; and now let us drop the whole miserable affair.” 

“I don’t see that you are to be blamed; I should have felt 
and acted the same way. And I certainly will be glad to drop 
the whole affair.” 

“Thank you, my darling!” he exclaimed, reaching for the 
hand nearest him. 

“Don’t misunderstand me! I’m not saying that I will marry 
you,” she said, moving the hand out of his reach. 

“Why not?” he asked as a wave of pallor swept every 
vestige of color out of his face. “I don’t think I am vain 
beyond the ordinary run of men, Jean, and I know you have 
been careful not to say anything that would convey an ad- 
mission; but somehow I have felt that you were not indifferent 
to me, that you cared for me at least in a measure.” 

A blush swept over Jean’s face but she said nothing. 

“Let us understand each other once for all, Jean! I for 
one have had enough of misunderstanding and heartache. 
Let’s deal with each other as a candid, honest man and a 
sincere, true woman should.” 

“My reason is a purely personal one and concerns myself 
alone,” she said. 

“Nothing can possibly concern you without concerning me 
in an equal measure while every fibre of my heart is bound 
up in love for you.” 

“Then I will tell you. I am of a disposition that craves 
confidence and affection and my heart would starve to death 
with a cold, secretive person as your letters show you to be. 
So I think it best to have all the pain and suffering over at 
once.” 

When Jean got through with this she was so near the verge 
of a good cry as to require heroic comforting. She didn’t 
move away this time, however; on the contrary she seemed 
to find that a big broad shoulder was a pretty good place on 


292 


EXPLANATIONS 


which to gasp out the two or three sobs in which her reso- 
lution vanished. 

“Poor litt-le girl!” said the comforter, leaning what felt 
suspiciously like a moist cheek on her forehead, “Have I 
nearly broken your heart too? Jean, let’s wipe out all the 
blundering of the past eighteen months and begin again frojn 
that night when all the world seemed glorified; and let me 
try to show you — I shall never be able to do it, but I just 
want to try — how much I love you!” 

“Then you didn’t mean to be cold and indifferent when 
you didn’t say that — that you still felt what you professed that 
night, or tell me anything about how you were progressing 
in business?” 

“I’ve written you some genuine love letters, but when I 
would read them I couldn’t send them because I thought 
you were looking principally to my success, and that if some 
other fellow with better prospects were to come along you 
might throw me over. I’ve got some of those letters yet and 
I’m going to send them to you.” 

“Suppose I should tell you that the 'other fellow’ had been 
here and been sent away!” said Jean demurely. 

“And for love of me?” 

“There was no other reason!” 

“O, Jean!” Robert didn’t get any farther in his remarks 
for some seconds, but it is probable that Jean understood what 
he wanted to say. 

“Whew! How frantically jealous I should have been if I 
had known it! And what a simpleton I was to leave the 
coast clear for him! Just think what might have happened 
if he had succeeded in making you believe that he would be 
confidential and affectionate!” 

They were still settling up old scores, when there came a 
whoop from the depths of the woods and a few minutes later 
Jean’s troup came up laden with Christmas greens. 


EXPLANATIONS 


293 


“Why hello! Is that all the far you have gotten?” said 
Archie, dropping his barrow handles and sitting down on 
one of them. 

“I told ’em you wouldn’t come when I saw you go into old 
Burkhead’s wonder castle!” said Duke, looking out from 
under a load of holly branches. 

“Big house! and it takes lots of time to see it!” said Robert,, 
and added: “That’s a fine lot of holly you have, Duke.” 

“Yes, and it’s getting heavy, so I’ll move on. I guess yott 
can find your way back,” said Duke suiting the action to the: 
word. 

“You just ought to see what a lot of vines we found; these 
are not a drop in the bucket. There’s enough of them to* 
decorate the whole town,” said Archie, taking up the handler 
of his barrow. 

“Got any mistletoe?” Robert asked. 

“No, we didn’t find any we could get at.” 

“Who ever heard of decorating for Christmas without 
mistletoe?” Robert said, and as Archie moved off he went. 
climbing into the branches of the fallen tree upon which they" 
had been sitting. 

“I am going to hang this for my own benefit,” he said,, 
coming back with a bunch of the pretty, waxy leaves and 
berries. 

“It’s little odds you ask of mistletoe or anything else!” said 
Jean with a smile that was half fun, half provocation. 

“I’ve lost so much time, you see! Just think of two years 
and a half of love-making lost! O, Jean, please marry me 
and go home with me!” The tone of fun ended in one of 
such earnest entreaty that Jean burst out laughing and threw 
up her hands exclaiming: 

“Just listen at that! That’s all a man knows about what 
it is to get married!” 

“But you can get a iot of new dresses and bonnets after- 


294 


EXPLANATIONS 


wards, you know. If you say you will I’ll wait a week longer.” 

Then Jean had to argue the rest of the afternoon and till 
twelve o’clock that night, except what time her mother was 
in the parlor, to convince the hardheaded fellow that what he 
asked was out of reason; and even then he wasn’t convinced. 
But it was an interesting subject and an amusing one, too, 
to judge by the laughter it called forth. 

That was a happy Christmas for Jean; and as it always hap- 
pens, the brightness seemed to be as much without as within 
herself; everybody seemed happier, even the little Jenkinses 
appeared to enjoy their presents more than ever before. The 
sunshine shone brighter, and the fire too, and even the 
candles on the Sunday-school Christmas tree. Happiness 
appears to be a wonderful beautifier, for several people told 
her that Christmas-eve night that they had never seen her 
look so handsome before in her life. 

After his Christmas dinner, Robert asked his mother if she 
would feel neglected if he went to spend part of it with his 
sweetheart, and like a good mother she kissed him and told 
him to go. He mounted a horse and after riding swiftly 
through the falling snow all afternoon, rang the door bell at 
the Conway home that evening. It was no servant who 
opened the door for him this time, but Jean herself in her 
prettiest dress and with a flower in her hair. Even Robert 
looked at her a moment in surprise, as pretty as she had been 
growing in his eyes those years past. It was no cold room 
that received him, either; but one as warm and cheery as a 
happy little woman could make it. Inside of it he drew her 
under the mistletoe he himself had hung and claimed a Christ- 
mas kiss; and then, the scamp, he wanted to deliver one for 
his father and another for his mother and so on through the 
entire family. 

“You are a spoiled, bad boy!” said Jean, coloring as he 
made known the instructions he claimed to have received. 


EXPLANATIONS 


295 


"You don’t know me!” said the culprit, keeping fast hold 
of both her hands. "You have no conception of my depravity 
when it comes to being petted. Think of it! Mother and 
the girls have done nothing but pet me for two days past, and 
so far from being satisfied I ran off up here to you. And 
now, after riding fifteen miles in the snow, I’m kept standing 
here and am not allowed to carry out the special injunctions 
of my family.” 

"Let’s compromise by carrying out the mother’s injunc- 
tions,” said his victim timidly. 

"And neglect the commands of my father? Never!” 

"Let’s sit down and talk about it while you warm up; aren’t 
you very cold?” 

"No, we’ll fight it out on this line if it takes all night.” 

Fun flashed quickly from brown eyes to gray and laughter 
ran lightly from happy hearts to sunny faces. 

"Oh! I’m so tired!” sighed the besieged. 

"Shall I support you? I assure you it will afford me great 
pleasure!” 

Jean hastily changed position to avoid a feint and the at- 
tacking party resumed his former station with a hand grasped 
firmly in each of his own. 

"Mamma is coming!” with a flurried glance at the door. 

"Is she? I shall tell her you are trying to kiss me and ask 
her protection.” 

"Oh, what is a poor, defenceless girl to do with such an 
audacious wretch,” sighed the victim. 

"And what, pray, is a poor, timid fellow to do when a girl 
complains that he isn’t affectionate?” 

And then, oh, oh! how the crimson blood rushed to Jean's 
face and the tears to her eyes! And Robert was only too 
glad to make his peace at any cost, and for being so greedy 
he wasn’t even allowed to compromise, but had to surrender 


EXPLANATIONS 


296 

his claims altogether. But the mischief still sparkled in his 
eyes as he sat down beside the victor and said humbly: 

“Jean please tell me who that ‘other fellow’ was?” 

“It isn’t fair to tell names and tales too, you know!” she 
replied, wiping away a last stray tear. 

“But I know anyway; it was Louis Matthews. I used to 
be horribly afraid of him; lie’s given me more sleepless nights 
than everything else in the world combined. But after he 
married I felt easy. Who would think he would be looking 
for another wife so soon? And to have the impudence to 
come after my sweetheart too! The idea of your being second 
choice to any woman!” and Robert got up and walked up 
and down the room. 

“Don’t let that worry you; I haven’t said it was Louis,” 
said Jean from the sofa. 

“It isn’t worrying me now, but it does scare me to think 
what a risk I was running in my foolish pride. How did you 
come to love me anyway, Jean?” he asked, leaning over the 
sofa back. 

“Can’t imagine!” said Jean, looking up teasingly in her 
turn. “You know we women do such crazy things some- 
times; I think it must have happened when I had a spell 
on me.” 

“Would you mind going into a spell now?” he asked saucily. 
“I think I’d rather enjoy having the care of such a lunatic on 
my hands. But what did you tell Matthews?” 

“I haven’t said it was Louis!” 

“But I know it was. I thought it all out the other night 
before I went to sleep. It was Louis and it happened when 
he came to his sister’s wedding.” 

“I told him the place he asked for was occupied.” 

“Did you? That was right! And now he won’t be coming 
back to plead his cause or writing you any love letters. And 


EXPLANATIONS 


297 


that reminds me; I’m going to post my claim right now so 
nobody will be trespassing.” 

He came around with a ring in his hand; it was a plain 
one with only “Jean and Robert. Christmas 18 — ” in it. 

“It is conspicuous!” said Jean, holding up the adorned 
member for inspection when he had fitted the ring on. 

“I wish it were as big as a barn door and had The property 
of Robert Bruce, Esqr.’ on it in letters a foot high.” 

“That would be like putting a body in the pillory, wouldn’t 
it?” laughed Jean, and added: “Can’t you trust your interests 
with me, you foolish boy?” 

“That’s just what I am so frantically anxious to do — trust 
my interests to your keeping and take yours into mine; and 
if you will only marry me New Year’s day — ” 

Then the whole case had to be argued over again; but Jean 
had her side well in hand by this time.. She was worn out 
with teaching and needed rest she said. 

“But how are you going to rest while you keep on teach- 
ing?” 

“Til quit now; indeed I will!” 

“When?” 

“In February — when the term is out.” 

“And then?” 

“And then in the spring — are you coming home in the 
spring?” 

“I'm coming frequently until I have company going back; 
I can come any time.” 

“Well then — when you come home in the spring — why, we’ll 
talk about being married — later!” 

Robert fell back with a groan of despair; but when Jean 
laughed — a provoking, tantalizing laugh — he returned to the 
argument with renewed energy. But Jean was firm in all in 
which she had been in earnest at first; she wasn’t captious, 
however, and having had her turn at teasing, like a sensible 


288 


EXPLANATIONS 


little woman she let her lover see that she was willing to 
grant his request for a speedy marriage. 

She would resign her place in February, but she must have 
some little Time in which to turn over the management of 
the family affairs to her mother; then if he would come in 
March she would set a time for the wedding. 

Robert was satisfied except that he wanted the pleasure 
of mailing that letter of resignation, and drew from his pocket 
a fountain pen and tablet; but Jean positively refused to write 
on the letter head of 

“Johnson and Brftce, 

Attorneys at Law and Solicitors in Chancery.” 

She went to her own desk, however, and wrote the letter, 
giving it to him to mail. 


CHAPTER XXII 


ALICE ENLISTS 


> v ./'../'S' *< ' 



NE April afternoon Duke came 
home early — earlier than he 
had done since he had gone to 
work — and contrary to his 
usual custom, betook him- 
self hastily to his own room. 
A little while after, Jean tap- 
ped and in answer to his 
“come,” put her face in at 
the door. One would scarce- 
ly have recognized it as the 
same face that looked so 
bright and happy the Christ- 
mas before; it had a worn, 
hopeless look even when it 
smiled, as it did now. Duke 
was shaving, rather a work of supererogation, but one he per- 
formed religiously, and didn’t turn round. He was a man in 
stature, and the firm, well-knit muscles of his forearm, left 
bare by his rolled-up shirt sleeves, proclaimed him a man in 
strength as well. 

“Going out tonight?” the sister asked. 

"Promised a young lady to meet her at the five-fifty train,” 
he replied, out of one corner of his screwed-up mouth, as he 
scraped the other side of his face by bending the razor-arm 
over his head. 


( 299 ) 


300 


ALICE ENLISTS 


“Is Minnie coming home?” (Lottie had out-grown Duke, 
and bequeathed him to her sister.) 

“No’p.” 

“Who is it, then?” 

“Can’t stop to talk; most train-time now! Tell you when I 
get back,” he answered, with his chin high in air, as he scraped 
the throat beneath. 

Finding him so non-committal Jean left, and a few minutes 
later Duke was flying through the field towards the depot, as 
the whistle of the coming train sounded in the distance; and a 
few minutes later still he stood with glowing, expectant face at 
the foot of the car steps as the people filed out. 

“Hello, Al!” he shouted joyously, as a young woman in 
checked traveling coat and cap, with a satchel strapped over 
her shoulder came out. 

“O, Duke! I scarcely knew you!” cried the traveling divin- 
ity rapturously, as she alighted upon him from the platform 
and hugged him with all her might. “And you are half a head 
taller than I am! Oh! I know I shall never be able to boss 
you any more!” she continued, wiping her laughing eyes. 

“I don’t know about that! Jean has got me pretty well 
subdued, I can tell you,” he answered, as they went in search 
of Uncle Peter, whom the family always patronized, in return 
for his kindness to Jean the morning after Alice’s wreck. 

“Are they all well?” Alice asked, when the old hackman 
had secured her baggage and Duke gave up the reins and 
stepped in. 

“Yes, all well and unsuspecting,” he replied. 

“Well, bless its little heart! If it hasn’t been shaving!” cried 
Alice, rubbing her hand over her brother’s face, as he sat down 
beside her. 

“Oh, you are the same old Al, I see!” he said, blushing. 

“Of course I am! Did you expect me to come back some- 
body else?” 


ALICE ENLISTS 


301 


“But what made you come now? We didn’t look for you 
till June.” 

“Oh! I just wanted to; it’s awful to stay away from one’s 
people so long!” Alice answered earnestly; then looking at 
him almost uneasily, “What is the matter with Jean?” she 
asked. 

“Jean? Oh, she’s all right, I guess! She got run down 
from teaching, but she’s better since she quit. Since you 
speak of it, though, it strikes me she hasn’t been so cheerful 
lately. Do you reckon she could be in love with anybody?” 

“There’s no telling,” said Alice, sagely; “at least, unless she 
tells us herself.” 

They were near home now, and Alice was all eyes and ears. 
At the gate Duke stood up and uttered a “Hello!” that 
brought every face to view; and then they came rushing out, 
everybody with his hands up in astonishment, as they recog- 
nized Alice, who was on the ground and flying towards them 
in a second. There was a collision about half-way up the 
walk, and to Duke, who was more leisurely bringing up the 
rear, it looked for a minute as if the life would be squeezed out 
of Alice. 

“My child! Are you sick?” 

“O, Alice! What brought you home?” 

“No, I’m not sick. I just wanted to come!” And Alice had 
to repeat the protestation many times before their loving fears 
could be quieted. 

It was a grand feast they had that night, though there was 
nothing more than usual on the table. It was enough for 
everybody, except Alice, that the long vacant seat was occu- 
pied again. Alice herself was ravenously hungry, and de- 
clared that she had never tasted such a supper in her life be- 
fore. Noona made an excuse to come in and help Jim wait 
on the table, and for once in her life seemed proud of her cook- 
ing. They lingered long at the table, and then Alice wandered 


302 


ALICE ENLISTS 


about “howdodying” everything, and the rest followed at her 
heels. When at last Jean carried the tired traveler off to go to 
sleep, she went reluctantly, declaring that she had never before 
known what a paradise home was. 

Things were kept quiet next morning so that she might 
sleep, and the boys, and finally Kit, had to go off without see- 
ing her. She awoke late in the morning, but the motion of the 
train in her head was so annoying that she didn’t get up, and 
finally dropped to sleep again. In the afternoon, while the 
mother, who had not slept well on account of the excitement, 
was taking her nap, Jean peeped in upon Alice, and finding her 
awake, went for the dinner which Noona was keeping hot for 
her. Alice was glad to see the tray, and sitting up in bed, 
devoted her energies to it, while Jean opened the windows and 
set the room in order. 

“I shall be all right when I’ve finished this dinner, and then 
we’ll unpack my trunk. But sit down here and let’s talk while 
I’m eating.” 

Jean seated herself on the side of the bed, and began to dress 
a dish of lettuce, saying: 

“I’m so glad to find that you can eat, dear; I couldn’t feel 
satisfied that you had not come home sick till I saw how you 
enjoyed your supper.” 

“Well, you see (isn’t this chicken-pie good!) I had com- 
pleted the two years’ course and there was no necessity for my 
staying longer, unless I was going to take a longer course, 
which you know we can’t afford. The director said it would 
not make any difference — my going away — about my certifi- 
cate; and when I found I could come I just couldn’t stay 
away. You don’t know how dreadful it is to be away from 
home so long.” 

“Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?” 

“I didn’t know myself till two days before I started, and 
then I thought it would be nice to surprise you; so I tele- 


ALICE ENLISTS 


303 


graphed Duke at the shops to meet me without letting you 
know. But tell me about Robert! How is the affair between 
you progressing?” 

“Very well in one sense, but not at all in another. He was 
here a few weeks ago and I had promised him that I would 
then settle upon a time for our marriage; but I couldn’t do it, 
and he is taking it dreadfully to heart.” 

“Why couldn’t you?” 

Jean’s face grew troubled, and she said in a perplexed way: 

“You see, dear, there must be some sort of a head to this 
family; I’ve been making out to be a kind of head-piece, 
and I can’t turn things loose unless there were somebody else 
to take hold. I thought as mamma’s health is so much better 
and things are running so smoothly now, that she would be 
able to manage affairs after this; so when I quit teaching I 
began to try to get her to take charge, but I wish you could have 
seen what a time of it we had!” Jean laughed dismally. “I 
asked her to direct Uncle Si in resodding some places in the 
yard, and the first thing I knew she had gone into the garden 
and upset things generally. I never think of interfering 
with Uncle Si, except to tell him how much of each thing I 
think we can sell; but mamma had undertaken to direct all 
the way through; and proposed to make Uncle Si and the man 
I had hired to help him, do part of their work over. The man 
had been real impudent to her, and of course I discharged him 
at once. Uncle Si hadn’t said anything disrespectful, but he 
took an obstinate stand, and said he would leave before he 
would spoil the garden as she wanted him to do. Mamma 
was angry, and insisted that I should make him obey her or 
discharge him. I couldn’t do either without throwing away 
all hope of a garden this year; and I knew we would need the 
money from that more than ever since I’ve quit teaching, so I 
had to patch up a peace as best I could. I saw very plainly, 
though, that mamma can’t manage negroes; she can’t realize 


304 


ALICE ENLISTS 


that they are free, and expects them to obey just as they used 
to do. It’s strange, too, when she never treated those about 
her as slaves; look at Noona, for instance!” 

“Oh! Mamma doesn’t know that Noona’s skin is black. 
She thinks of her just as she does of you or me,” said Alice. 

“I tried, too, to get her to take hold of the buying,” Jean 
continued, “and I wish you could have seen how she bought. 
It was even worse than when she mortgaged the house. I gave 
up after that; for I saw that it was useless to expect her to ad- 
just herself to her changed circumstances.” 

“I could have told you that at first,” said Alice, thoughtfully. 
“Mamma isn’t one of the adjustable make. For my part, I 
am awfully glad the change in our affairs came before I was 
grown; I would hate to have old ideas and habits that the rest 
of the world had cast aside, growing like a shell on my back!” 

This didn’t sound much like the discontented Alice of old, 
but Jean didn’t say anything about it. 

“And that isn’t the worst of it, dear,” she continued. “Mam- 
ma seems really broken in spirit; she can’t bear the least 
little annoyance, and gets all wrought-up over anything in the 
least vexing. It seems that the trials and hardships that were 
such a spur to us have just broken her mental spring; she 
hasn’t power to bear suffering of any kind now.” 

“Poor mamma!” said Alice. 

“So under the circumstances, it is folly for me to think of 
marrying, or of doing anything except staying here and taking 
care of mamma, and I explained it to Robert and offered to 
release him from the engagement, but he wouldn’t hear to it. 
He insisted on keeping the engagement and waiting; though 
I don’t see any hope ahead of us. The best thing he could do 
would be to forget all about me and marry some other girl.” 
There was a break in her voice, but she controlled herself. 

Alice didn’t offer any solution to her troubles, as she had 
half way hoped that she might, but got up and began dressing 


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305 


briskly; and accustomed to losing herself in other people’s 
affairs, Jean dropped the dismal subject and soon she and Alice 
were deep into the possibilities of making new things out of 
old ones, discussing the pros and cons of cleaning and dying. 

When the boys came home Alice was herself, and ready to 
show them what she had accomplished while away. She 
played and sang, first several popular songs; and Alice could 
enter into the spirit of any little catchy airs in a way that made 
them enchanting. Then she gave them some intricate music, 
with scales and trills, which her voice took like a bird on the 
wing; sometimes it would pause and flutter about a note, like 
a butterfly over a rose; then it was away like a swallow, 
and with such lightness and ease that it seemed as if the soul 
of the singer were born to song as the birds to flight. Never 
did the great Patti hold audience more spellbound than was 
the little group whose hearts rose and swelled and triumphed 
in Alice and her music. When supper was over she left them 
early, saying she had an important letter to write and must 
take some time to think about it. Jean followed her to their 
room, because she couldn’t help feeling a little as if Alice 
were company and ought to be waited on. When Alice would 
not be waited on, however, and turned her out, she went back 
to the boys for comfort. Archie hailed her with: 

“I say, Jean, ain’t Alice a daisy! I think she is a stunner 
for looks with her hair all curly and tucked up that way! And 
can’t she sing, though! Jiminy!! I’d rather hear her than 
a whole brass band!” 

“She’s just a little mogul, she is!” asserted Duke, who was 
in love with railroading, and had taken to drawing all his fig- 
ures of speech from it. “A regular ten-wheeler! And when 
she gets up steam and throws open her throttle she can make 
a mile a minute and never loosen a bolt! I’ll tell you what! 
They don’t T>uild ’em any finer in these parts! I don’t know 
w^hat they turn out from their shops on the other side of the 


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pond, but in my opinion a finer machine never doused her 
glim in these United States !” 

“And can’t she claw music out of that old piano!” exuber- 
ated Archie. “The old thing stalls and balks and worries the 
rest of us, but when she took hold of it, it got up on its four 
feet and pranced! And she didn’t fuss and abuse it like she 
used to, either!” 

“Has anybody told her that we are laying aside a little pile 
to get her a new one?” asked Duke. 

“No, I don’t think anyone has,” said Jean. 

“Well, don’t let’s tell her till we get enough. We can soon 
do that now she’s at home, and some morning we’ll surprise 
her.” 

“Jean,” said Archie, in the tone of one struck with a brand 
new idea, “wouldn’t you like to go off somewhere to study — 
er — music — or something? Because if you would, Duke and 
I are just the fellows who can send you, sure.” 

“You forget,” said the big sister, smiling, “that I have no 
talent for music or anything else.” 

“See here, now, Jean,” said Duke, drawing his other leg 
over the banisters, of which he had been sitting astride; “it 
strikes me that I am the idiot who invented that heresy, and I 
want to recant right here and now. You’ve got something 
better than talent; you are a perfect genius for common sense; 
and I’ll be blessed if I know what would have become of the 
rest of us if you hadn’t been ! So, as Arch says, if there’s any- 
thing you would like to study, or if you would like a trip just 
for pleasure, why, I’m your man!” 

“No, I don’t believe I care to go off for either study or 
pleasure.” 

“But ain’t there something we can do for you?” persisted 
Archie. “Two great grown boys like us ought to do some- 
thing for their sisters.” 

“Well,” said Jean slowly, and with a touch of hopelessness 


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307 


in her voice, “if it were possible, which it isn’t, I would like to 
be able to live a while without having to think about things for 
people to eat, and cooking.” 

“Jean," said Duke, solemnly, “you are billious!” 

“Do you think so? Maybe I am; but it does seem to me 
sometimes that people don’t do anything in the world but eat. 
I can scarcely remember the time when I didn’t have to think 
about providing things and cooking, and I just feel sick and 
tired of it all. However, I’ll get over it without going to the 
expense of a trip, I hope; if I don’t feel better soon, I’ll make 
Alice take hold and help Noona, and let me rest.” 

When Jean went to her room Alice was busy writing, but 
Jean little suspected that it had to do with helping her out of 
her trouble. A peep over the writer’s shoulder would have 
shown the folllowing: 

“Dear' Robert — (I suppose I may call you that under the 
circumstances). I arrived here twenty-four hours ago and write 
now to say that if you will put in an appearance at Conway 
Cottage at seven o’clock on the evening of the tenth instant 
you will hear something to your advantage. No cards, no cake, 
no gloves, no flowers, nothing but sherbet, music, and “sass.” 

Your 

Miss Alice.” 

P. S. — If you can’t come at the time mentioned, write me at 
once, and I’ll change the date of the affair to suit you, as your 
presence is indispensable. Now, don’t come poking up to our 
house before the time, to find out what it is all about; be a good 
boy, come as directed, and don’t say a word about it to any- 
body. a. c.” 

Immediately upon her arrival becoming known, Alice be- 
came the toast of her old friends; they all hastened to see her 
and went away to talk of how wonderfully she was improved. 


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On Sunday she sang the offertory in church, to the delight of 
everyone, and next morning the principal of the school has- 
tened around to offer her a position as vocal teacher for the 
next year. She promtply accepted it, though without elation; 
indeed, none of the praises she received seemed to turn her 
head, as grateful as she was for them. The family were more 
and more surprised at the change in her as they watched in 
vain for some appearance of the unhappy disposition that had 
so marred the last year of her home life. 

On the afternoon of the tenth, she surprised them by an- 
nouncing that she was going to have company that evening. 

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so sooner? I’m afraid it is too 
late to get up a decent tea!” said Jean in a flurry. 

“They are not invited to tea, and I’ve made all my arrange- 
ments; so don’t worry,” said Alice, calmly; and then she 
wouldn’t tell any more; wouldn’t say who or how many were 
coming, nor when she had invited them. Just before supper 
she got hold of Jean and renovated her style of hair dressing 
most effectively; whisked Kit’s unruly mane into subjection to 
ribbons; added a few cheerful touches to the mother’s sombre 
best dress; then hurried Duke up with his toilet, then she 
rushed them all through supper, so Noona could make the 
sherbet. 

The first time Noona opened the door in answer to the bell, 
Jean turned a pale face to Alice, exclaiming: 

“Why, that is Robert!” 

“Yes,” said Alice, in a matter of course way, “and if you 
don’t go and receive him I’ll have to.” 

In a few minutes the bell rang again, and Judge Bruce was 
shown in ; and while the father and son were still viewing each 
other in surprise, and each explaining that he had come upon 
special invitation, the mother and Alice went in, and soon after 
Kit and the boys followed, as they had been directed by Alice. 

After a while, when there was a pause in the conversation. 


ALICE ENLISTS 


309 


Alice arose, and with just a little bit of stage fright in voice 
and manner, said: 

/‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have a little story to tell you; there 
isn’t any moral to it, but perhaps those most interested can tell 
the interpretation thereof. Once upon a time, there were two 
girls in the same family; one was a Good Girl and the other 
was a Bad Girl. The family lost all their money and the two 
girls had to go to work for them. Bad Girl couldn’t do any- 
thing at all scarcely for them on account of her badness; but 
Good Girl did a great deal. Just as Good Girl had got them 
pulled up on their feet, however, along came Prince Charm- 
ing; he didn’t fall in love with Bad Girl, because she was bad,, 
but he went over head and ears in love with Good Girl and 
wanted to marry her and take her off to his castle. Good Girl 
would have gone with him, too, but the family all clung about 
her skirts and held her back. After he was gone poor Good 
Girl was in great distress, all because she couldn’t find her 
heart anywhere; but nobody blamed her; at least Bad Girl 
didn’t; for the Prince was such a fetching young fellow that it 
wasn’t at all surprising that he got away with poor Good Girl’s 
heart.” Alice glanced shyly at Robert, whose face had begun 
to show deep interest when Prince Charming was mentioned,, 
and continued: “After that Bad Girl got obstreperous and 
ran away ; she was going to make a great name for herself and 
a fortune for the family, she said; and then the family. Good 
Girl and all, had to toil and slave for years to keep Bad Girt 
up. But at last she came to herself one day, and got ashamed 
of her selfisness and went home. In plain mother English, 
mamma, and Uncle Bruce,” said the speaker, changing her 
tone, “I think Jean has sacrificed herself long enough for the 
rest of us, and Eve come home to manage the family and let 
her be free to — to go into the lecture field, or politics, or char- 
ity work, just as she choses. I know I have been foolish and 
selfish” contritely, “but I’ve gotten over all that now, and am 


310 


ALICE ENLISTS 


willing to do my part. I have not wasted the opportunities 
the rest have worked so hard to give me, and I now have a 
good profession that I can depend on. I know/’ she added, 
with a touch of her old perversity, as she glanced at Jean’s be- 
wildered face, “that Jean thinks nobody can take care of this 
family except herself, and I just want to show her how mis- 
taken she is. I have now laid before you the business for 
which this meeting was called, and we will be glad to have an 
expression from each one present. The meeting is now open!” 
Alice finished with quite a statesmanlike little flourish, and sat 
down, amid a flutter of excitement. 

Robert went out and sat down by Jean, whose face was a 
study of emotions; the rest looked hastily from one to another, 
and Duke got up. He cleared his throat nervously, and there 
was a suspicious huskiness in his voice as he said: 

“Mamma, Uncle Bruce and — ” with a laughing glance at 
Robert — “the rest of us. As a family we are one; we may 
have our little squabbles among ourselves, but when it comes 
to facing the world I am proud to say we present an unbroken 
front; so when one speaks you hear the sentiments of all. For 
this reason it would be unnecessary for me to speak, as Alice 
has already done so; but I am humiliated by the knowledge 
that I am the only one of the band who ever deserted the flag 
— who failed the little Captain Mother in the hour of peril!” 
Duke’s eyes sought the floor and his voice was a little un- 
steady; the next instant he looked up bravely and con- 
tinued: “But I want to assure the mother now, that all that 
is in the past, and that whatever a strong arm and a willing 
heart can do, she may rely upon me for. I want to say to Jean 
that she has done her part bravely and well, and I intend to let 
my conduct in the future express my appreciation of her; I 
want to say to her farther, that in lighting a camp fire of her 
own she isn’t leaving us, we are only enlarging our command; 


ALICE ENLISTS 


311 


for she and hers will always be ‘of ours.’ Has anyone else 
something to say?” 

“Those are my sentiments!” cried Kit joyously, from a 
sofa in the rear; but Archie, upon whose unsuspecting soul 
the hidden meaning of it all had just dawned, got up and hur- 
ried out of the room with averted face. 

Judge Bruce arose with a scowl on his face that would have 
struck terror to the heart of a prisoner at the bar, and drawing 
his tall form up to its full height, said in a voice which sounded 
more like that of prisoner than of judge: 

“My dear madam, the wife of my life-long friend, and you, 
his children: I don’t know how to describe to you the feelings 
which these proceedings have awakened within me; for I am 
overwhelmed. For years the greatest problem, the heaviest 
responsibility of my life has been to discharge the trust 
committed to me by dying hands — how to provide for and 
rear these children in such a way that I can look my old friend 
in the face at my journey’s end. With the means that was left 
I should have been able to keep you at least comfortable, but 
circumstances utterly beyond my control — ” here Uncle Bruce 
looked straight at the mother, who was, as Jean well knew, 
the only uncontrollable circumstance in the whole affair — 
“thwarted me at every turn, and I have been forced to see you 
struggle with adversities severe enough to break the spirits of 
older people. Yet as I sat here tonight and reviewed Jean’s 
heroic course for years past, listened to Alice’s brave, woman- 
ly assumption of her duty, and heard Duke’s manly confession 
and promise, I have been forced to acknowledge that Provi- 
dence has been wiser than I, and has done my work better than 
I could have hoped to do it. If it had not been for the trials 
and struggles you have undergone, instead of the united family 
you are, loving, helping, and upholding one another, I would 
probably have you on my hands now, an idle, selfish set, 
squabbling over the little left you and promising nothing but 


312 


ALICE ENLISTS 


ill for the community around you. So in looking over the 
case, I can only say that it has been well managed, and I am 
thankful to the good Lord, and you all.” 

Uncle Bruce blew his nose resonantly and sat down. 

“Now, mother, you have heard all the rest, and it is your 
turn to speak!” said Duke. 

As the mother stood up, steadying herself by a hand on 
Jean’s shoulder, she looked frailer and sweeter than ever. 

“I will begin by saying to you, Judge, that I attribute my 
success in bringing up my children to the fact that I have had 
faith in them. I have always felt that they would come out 
right at last; and since the oldest responded so beautifully to 
the trust I reposed in her, I have never for a moment doubted 
that sooner or later the others would follow her example. 
Therefore, I am not surprised, as you are, by the expressions 
of loving concern for each other that you have heard from 
them. You, Alice, have said well; it isn’t right that we should 
take more of Jean’s life. We are told that to those who have 
been faithful the Master will say in the end, ‘Well done, good 
and faithful servant. As it can’t be wrong to imitate Him in 
this, as in all other things, I say to you, Jean, ‘Well done, good 
and faithful child! May the Lord be faithful to you’ as you 
have been to me!’” The thin hand moved from Jean’s 
shoulder to her head and rested there a moment in silent bless- 
ing, while the big tears welled from the mother’s closed eyes. 

Such a recognition from the mother, coming after the up- 
braidings and reproaches that had been hers since the selling 
of Conway Place, was too much for Jean, and she covered her 
face to hide her tears. The mother dropped sobbing into her 
chair, Judge Bruce drew his hand across his eyes, and tried 
to explain that his sight was failing of late, and Kit, catching 
the cue, set up a regular boo-hoo from her corner. 

“Duke,” said Alice, in a stage whisper, “tell Noona to hand 


ALICE ENLISTS 


313 


around some fresh handkerchiefs; this is a feature of the even- 
ing’s entertainment that I didn’t anticipate.” 

The suspicious glisten in Duke’s eyes changed to a sparkle, 
and he burst into a laugh, in which even Jean and the mother 
joined. 

“Alice,” said her soon-to-be brother-in-law, admiringly, 
“you are the greatest girl in America, after your sister.” 

“You poor, demented creature! I scarcely think it is safe 
for you to be at large!” said Alice, compassionately, as she 
sat down and ran her fingers over the piano keys. Robert 
joined in the laugh at his own expense, as he rose and said: 

“May it please the Court: The claimant and the defendant 
are both ready to proceed to trial, and it is to be hoped that a 
decision will be reached during the present sitting.” Then he 
offered Jean his arm, and they went out on the porch to talk 
over the future that had so suddenly brightened up before 
them. As they left the room Alice began to play the wedding 
march, and received a laughing protest from the already de- 
voted aspirant to kinship. 

While Robert and Jean, in the moonlight, talked of wed- 
dings and bridal tours, Alice exerted herself to entertain the 
group in the parlor and dispell all trace of sadness; she played 
and sang the liveliest pieces in her repertory, and told jokes 
and anecdotes of her city life till everybody was completely re- 
stored. She slipped out when Noona came in with the sherbet 
and having found and lectured Archie, brought him in; and 
he stayed the rest of the evening, making desperate efforts 
not to mar Jean’s happiness by an exhibition of his misery. 

After a while Jean and Robert came back, and he, looking 
as happy as a sure-enough prince, said: 

“I am happy to inform the company that when Bad Girl 
went home she reformed, and then Good Girl was released, and 
she and the Prince were married and lived happily ever after.” 
In other words, on the fifteenth of the following June Jean 


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ALICE ENLISTS 


undertook the combined duties of lecturer and charity worker. 

The announcement was received with a buzz of approval and 
good wishes, in which even the mother and Archie joined with 
tolerable grace. 

The judge was as loth to leave that night as his son, and on 
the way back to town he was enthusiastic in his praises of 
Alice. She was the most brilliant woman he had met in years, 
he said, and he was sure her wit, tact, and beauty had not been 
equaled since the days of the grand dames of the revolution. 


1 


CHAPTER XXIII 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 



USY days were those which fol- 
, lowed Alice’s master-stroke 
of statesmanship. 

Duke and Archie had not 
been able to keep the secret 
of the new piano and at 
Alice’s suggestion they gave 
the money 7 laid by for it to Jean 
for her wedding outfit. To be 
sure it wouldn’t have been 
enough to buy the bridal dress 
of a fashionable city girl, but 
then a bride with as rich a dowry 
of happiness as Jean’s could afford to have a very modest 
wardrobe.; besides as everything is estimated by comparison, 
Jean really felt that she would be quite fine with all that money 
laid out in clothes. Alice had caught all the new ideas and 
knew just how and where and what to buy; she was full of 
suggestions and enthusiasm and planned the entire outlay, to 
Jean’s relief and satisfaction. 

There was little enough time in which to prepare for even 
the most modest wedding and after a couple of days spent in 
adjusting means to necessities as best it could be done with, 
Robert making long and frequent visits, the two girls went to 
work. At night they wrote important looking letters and in 
the cool part of the morning they shopped. 


( 315 ) 


316 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


One morning after walking quite a while in search of some 
little article without finding it, Alice said: 

“Let’s go to Mr. Beard’s! I’m almost sure they have them 
there. I wish we had thought of going there sooner and saved 
ourselves such a walk.” 

“I wouldn’t go there if I were you! Let me go!” said Jean, 
quickly. 

“Why not?” Alice asked in a matter of fact way. 

“Well, you know — ” Jean began and then stopped while 
her face colored up. 

“Oh! I hope you don’t think me still a goose!” Alice replied 
coloring too, though she laughed lightly as they turned across 
to the well-known corner. She greeted Mr. Beard and also 
Mr. Winn, who was clerking for his father-in-law, just like 
herself of old, asked about Mrs. Beard, Callie and the baby 
while she was selecting the articles she wanted, and sent pleas- 
ant messages to them. 

As they turned into an unfrequented side street on their 
way home Alice drew a long breath and said with an earnest- 
ness that came up from the heart: 

“I can’t begin to tell you, Jean, how glad I am that I wasn’t 
allowed to spoil my life.” 

“Do you mean by marrying?” Jean asked. 

“Yes. I don’t know what possessed me; it seems to me 
now that I must have been crazy to think of such a thing; for 
it would have been the last of everything for poor me. I 
hadn’t been out in the world any time before I began to come 
to myself; I saw what an awful mistake I had been saved from 
making, and then I realized that things could be ordered for 
me better than I could arrange them for myself and that 
knowledge has made a different girl of me.” 

“I thought you were being cured but I didn’t know it was 
being done so thoroughly,” Jean said. 

“The truth is I needed a strong hand in my bringing up,” 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


317 


Alice continued. “If I had been held back and not allowed 
to go out as a young lady when I should have been wearing 
aprons and short dresses, it would have been better for me 
in a great many ways; but poor mamma was so lenient on 
account of the privations we had to undergo that she wasn’t 
fit to deal with a headstrong girl like me. I suppose it took 
that discipline to teach me my life lesson; and as I brought it 
on myself, I ought not to complain; but I cannot help wishing 
that it might have been otherwise.” 

“It does no good to repine; and as the discipline accom- 
plished the purpose for which it was sent, I would let it go 
along with the rest of the irreparable past. But tell me what 
it was that altered your determination to go on the stage?” 

“Well, you see, dear,” Alice replied with the air of superior 
worldly wisdom she always assumed to Jean; “the world is 
such a different place from what you and I have always imag- 
ined it; and this is particularly true of stage life, though a 
body wouldn’t find it out just by going to the performances. 
Lucy Gresham, the girl I wrote you so much about and whom 
I visited in vacation, was stage-struck too, in fact that was 
the first bond of sympathy between us. Her people didn’t 
oppose her because they thought it wouldn’t do any good, 
but they got one of the teachers to show her something of 
the life people on the stage lead. He was my teacher too at 
the time he took me along. He carried us into the green 
rooms of the theatres and to the rehearsals, introduced us to 
the actors and actresses, and let us see everything about the 
life; and it wasn’t very long before we were both cured. It 
is an awful existence and most of those who go into it get to 
be real hard. The fellows who look so fetching behind the 
footlights swear and smell of liquor, and the women are pert 
and brazen; poor things! The life and the work are both 
hard on them and they soon get to look worn and fagged 
with their paint and finery off. So after having seen it all 


818 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


I concluded I’d rather keep my refinement and be an old 
maid music teacher with nerves all thumped and banged into 
irritability, than to take the exceedingly small chance of 
winning fame and fortune on the stage.” 

“But you will not be an old maid; Prince Charming will 
find you too, and you will be happy,” said Jean. 

“I don’t know; he may and then again he mayn’t! If he 
does come, he will have to be indeed a prince among men. 
But I am going to be happy at any rate, I’ve made up my 
mind to that. I used to think it was real silly in you, Jean, 
to be always saying that it wasn’t what peoples’ lots were in 
life, but the way they took them that made happiness, but 
I’ve found out it’s true. As I said just now, the world as 
mamma sees it through the halo of memory and as she 
idealized it to us doesn’t exist now. People don’t sit still now 
and enjoy themselves, but everybody that is anybody is up 
and working, struggling for something; and I really begin 
to believe that people are not very happy who haven’t some- 
thing ahead of them that requires effort. When I found that 
out I became better satisfied to work and struggle too. And 
there was another thing I discovered that helped me, and 
that is that the only real difference in people is on the inside 
of ’em; it was a shock to me to find out that people who live 
amid costly and elegant surroundings could be anything else 
than elegant and refined themselves; but the thing is kind of 
balanced up when a body finds culture and refinement and 
all that in shabby clothes, as one does among the girls who 
are struggling to make something of themselves in a great 
city. I know I have thought a hundred times of what you 
said about self-respect and good breeding being all that was 
left us of our heritage, and I have been so glad that that was 
the part left.” 

They were passing the Burkheads’ home and Alice broke 
off with: 






















■ ' 






















• - 



































































































































































UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


319 


“Poor Annie! A cage must be a dreary place, even if it 
is gilded. But what was it you started to tell me about her 
the other day when Mrs. Matthews came in?” 

“Oh, yes! I was going to tell you about the note she wrote 
me. You know she and I got to be very intimate after you 
left, and when they bought down here she told me that one 
reason was that she wanted to be near me. You may imagine 
then that I was surprised when a few months ago I received 
a note from her asking me not to come to see her any more. 
She loved me, she said, and would always continue to do so, and 
no one knew what it cost her to write that note; but it was 
necessary for her peace that our intimacy should cease; she 
hoped I wouldn’t misunderstand her and that for her sake I 
wouldn’t say anything more about it than was necessary.” 

“Of course that old Turk made her do it!” 

“It occurred soon after Tom Rutland came back, when all 
the town was talking about how much more closely she staid 
at home, and I know it was as she said, for her own peace.” 

“It’s a pity she hasn’t a baby to love and to give her an in- 
terest in life!” said Alice, compassionately. 

“Mrs. Matthews seems to think it is a fortunate thing she 
hasn’t. She is very guarded in what she says, but from the 
way she talked one day when she seemed very much aroused, 
I judge she thinks he would be unkind to anything that Annie 
loved. Poor girl! I often wonder if she continues to find 
compensation for such a life in her costly surroundings.” 

“What a life to lead! how narrow and belittling! Oh, I am 
so glad my mistakes were not allowed to lead me into such a 
fatal error!” said Alice, gratefully. 

“It took a good deal to teach us how to judge between 
what is really good and what only seems to be so, but I’m 
thankful for the lesson and especially that it came early,” said 
Jean. 

As the busy weeks flew by, everybody tried to make Jean 


320 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


as happy as possible; Alice declared tears contraband, and if 
any were shed they were smuggled through the lines at night. 

The evening before the wedding Alice sent Robert off early 
on the ground that Jean ought to go to sleep in order to look 
her best the next day; and then, as two girls always will, they 
sat on the steps and talked, and talked. 

“Oh, darling! I shall be all broken up now that I can't 
tell you everything -as I have always done," Alice said patheti- 
cally, as she laid her head in Jean’s lap. 

Jean brushed back the bangs from Alice’s pretty forehead 
and asked in surprise: 

“And why can’t you?” 

“Why, because I don’t want all my rascality told to that 
teasing brother-in-law of mine of course!” 

“Do you think I would tell him anything to your discredit 
or that you didn’t want him to know?” 

“I thought it was part of the unwritten law of matrimony, 
or at least written between the lines of the love — honor — and 
— obey clause, that a wife should tell her husband everything,” 
said Alice. 

“I suppose it is so far as they two are concerned, but I 
don’t see that it includes other peoples’ affairs at all.” 

“Don’t you, dear? Well I must say that is the most sensi- 
ble interpretation of the code matrimonial I ever heard and 
one that just suits me. I have been feeling awful because I 
thought I couldn’t come to you any more with my troubles,” 
Alice said in a relieved tone. “I know it sounds dreadfully 
selfish, but that is the only thing that has made me ‘begrudge’ 
you to Robert, as the darkies say.” 

“And I too, should feel dreadful to think that you and 
mamma and the rest couldn’t tell me things just as you have 
always done. Why, I couldn’t bear to be shut out from family 
affairs as if I were no longer one of you!” 

“Well, you won’t have any reason to complain of me if you 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


821 

promise not to tell,” Alice said reassuringly, and added, “And, 
Jean, there’s another thing I want you to promise me; I want 
you to go into society and have a good time; you deserve 
it I am sure. You have been shut out from such things so 
long that you have gotten the idea that you wouldn’t make 
any sort of appearance; but you would. You could cut a 
really fine figure if you gave your mind to it, with your sense 
and your steady head; and you would enjoy it too.” 

“You are mistaken in that last, if not in the first as well,” 
Jean replied earnestly. “Of course I hope to make friends, 
congenial friends, in my new home and to enjoy associating 
with them; but I feel that I can never be content to live on 
the bubbles and foam of life. I have been down into the deep 
waters, you know — ” 

“Yes,” interrupted Alice significantly, “you have been down 
into the deep waters — where pearls are found and the perishing 
are rescued!” 

“It is true that I have found the pearl of great price,” said 
Jean, “but I certainly haven’t any claims as a rescuer.” 

“Of course your name will never be put into the papers 
in flaming headlines under a caricature of your dear old face, 
and you will never receive a medal from a society with a long 
name, but all the same you have rescued us from the slough 
of despond and made men and women of us, and lots of people 
live their whole lives through without accomplishing one- 
tenth as much.” 

“I wish I deserved half the credit all of you give me; but 
I’ve been so ungracious, so repining in making my sacrifices! 
That is the one thing in it all that I regret. But I started 
to say that I feel that I can’t be satisfied to live for pleasure; 
I want to be among those who are living in earnest, who are 
striving to better both themselves and the world.” Jean spoke 
seriously, and after a few moments’ thoughtfulness Alice said: 

“If you feel that way you won’t enjoy society; after all is 


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said it is for the most part a poor little struggle for a belittling 
supremacy. Everybody tries to make his or her neighbor 
believe that he or she is a great deal richer and handsomer 
and smarter and happier than he or she really is, and nobody 
is much deceived except the poor geese who stand on the 
outside and envy. I’ve seen enough to enable me to find out 
that much, and you know I never was a very discerning young 
person where the glamour of things is concerned. If I had 
thought a while I would have known that with your earnest 
way of looking at things you wouldn’t enjoy even the crust of 
pleasure on the top, which deceives so many.” 

The two girls had not been in dreamland long that night 
when the light, expectant sleep that brooded over the house- 
hold was disturbed by some queer sounds. The mother 
was the first aroused by them and getting up and going cau- 
tiously into the girls’ room she aroused Alice. 

“I think the house is about to be entered by burglars, dear; 
I hear them talking outside. Listen!” 

Both listened breathlessly for a moment; sure enough there 
were indistinct mutterings as of men talking in undertone. 

“Don’t wake Jean, but be perfectly quiet while I get Duke 
up,” said the new headpiece of the family, getting up with 
alacrity. 

In a few moments she and Duke came out into the hall 
armed with a gun, a candle and matches. The mother met 
them with: 

“Children, it is Rene. Listen!” 

A thin, quavering voice rose on the quiet night air in what 
was intended to be a rollicking German student’s song; the 
singer was not equal to the effort, however, and broke off 
suddenly with a sanctimonious: 

“Let us pray!” and began a rambling, incoherent harangue 
the substance of which was that the speaker’s father had been 


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323 


govenor of the state and that the speaker himself had com- 
mitted the heinous sin of being educated at Heidelberg. 

“Oh! he’ll wake Jean and she’ll be worried to death and 
will look like a fright to-morrow!” cried Alice despairingly. 

“Wait a minute and I’ll put a stop to his racket!” said Duke 
in a voice that boded ill to the disturber, as he turned back 
to his room for more clothes. Alice hastily slipped into a 
wrapper and slippers and followed him with the lighted candle 
when he came out. 

“Just to think that he should come back here to disgrace us 
at this time of all others!” she said when they were out of the 
mother’s hearing. Duke turned and looked her in the eye. 

“I’ll fix him so he won’t be any trouble to-morrow, if you’ll 
stand up to me!” he said. 

“I’m the woman to stand up to you in anything short of 
murder in this emergency,” said Alice with an answering look 
of determination. 

“All right! come ahead!” 

They~ found Rene lying against the side of the house; he 
had quieted down, but on seeing the light cried: 

“O Shean! Ish that you Shean?” 

“No! Dry up! We don’t want any more of your fuss 
around here,” said Duke savagely; whereupon Rene began 
to cry in earnest. 

“Oh where ish my little shister Shean that I love sho much? 
I have come all thish way to perform the marriage sheremony 
for her and now she won’t speak to me! But I forgot; she 
ish a devout Shurch woman and I’m only a disshenter. Oh! 
why have I never reshieved ordination at the hands of Holy 
Mother Shurch?” and the penitent began to weep copiously. 

“Well, that can’t be helped now,” said Duke, laughing in 
spite of his anger, “but we’ll remedy the trouble as far as we 
can by administering baptism at the mouth of mother pump.” 


324 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


“O, Duke! don’t talk so irreverently!” said Alice in a 
shocked voice. 

“I didn’t mean any harm!” asserted her brother as he seized 
the dissenter by the collar and started with him for the' pump. 
When he had placed the unresisting Rene under the pipe lead- 
ing to the cow-trough he added encouragingly : 

“Now you pump while I hold him!” 

The first dash of cold water brought forth a few pious 
phrases and feeble struggles from the victim, who then lapsed 
into unresisting silence. 

“Duke, are you sure you are not killing him?” Alice asked, 
anxiously, as she suspended operations for a moment. 

“Yep! Only shaping him up to go to work tomorrow,” 
said he, reassuringly. “Pump away!” 

And Alice pumped! 

In a few minutes, Rene began to sputter out a mixture of 
French and German, and to make more vigorous resistance. 

“Oho! That sounds more like us!” said Duke, tightening 
his grasp. It wasn’t long before Rene was calling them both 
by name, begging like a pretty fellow, and making all sorts of 
promises; then Duke let him up and led him to a towel on the 
porch, while Alice went into the kitchen to get him something 
to eat. He was in a dreadful plight, and bore little resem- 
blance to the Rene of old. At the table, he refused everything 
except the cold coffee. 

“You’d better eat, for you will need your strength tomor- 
row!” Duke assured him. “You’ve come just in the nick of 
time, I can tell you. I’m going to take a day off, and as I 
don’t want to lose a day’s pay, you can take my place. How 
do you think you will like crawling into a boiler and holding 
a sledge hammer against a bolt-head while a fellow on the out- 
side lams away on it? Lively music, I can tell you! Though 
not so entrancing as the violin!” 

Rene’s only reply was a sickly smile, and Duke continued: 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER 


325 


'‘That's only for one day, mind you; I’ll let you have my 
place for one day, but no longer. In the meantime I’ll see 
about getting you a steady job where you will have a real 
man's work." 

Rene neither assented nor objected to this, but began to 
grumble about the ducking he had received. 

“Oh, you won't know us here now! This household has 
turned over a new leaf; we no longer entertain accomplished 
members of the family who pay their way with their good 
company. Everybody who lodges beneath this hospitable roof 
works, so when we saw that you were not exactly in working 
trim, we went in to brace you up for it." 

With Duke’s assistance, Alice made up a cot on the back 
porch, which was latticed in, and made a comfortable sleeping 
apartment for a warm night. 

“You needn’t be in a hurry about getting up in the morn- 
ing," said Duke, as they left their almost sobered half-brother. 
“I’ll be out in time to wake you and escort you around to the 
shops." 

Inside they held a whispered consultation, and then went to 
get what sleep this new worry would let them. 

When Duke got up and went out at daylight, Rene was no- 
where to be found, and after an early trip to town, where he 
arranged to have him detained, if found under the influence of 
liquor, both he and Alice felt comparatively easy, and Jean 
never knew how near her wedding day came to being spoiled. 

As the marriage was to take place early, everybody was astir 
betimes. There was a hasty cup of coffee and a slice of bread 
and butter, eaten standing, and then every one went to work. 
Alice made a tour of the house to see that Nooha got every- 
thing under way for the wedding breakfast, and that the 
woman hired for the occasion knew exactly how the house 
work was to be done, and, satisfied that everything was moving 
smoothly, went to her room to dress. She stopped in the 


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doorway and an expression of mingled admiration and re- 
proach swept over her face, as she exclaimed: 

“Now, Jean! That’s just like you! Always thinking of 
somebody else, instead of yourself!” 

Jean, who was busy with Kit’s braids, that fastidious young 
lady having given them up in despair, looked up in time to 
see the expression change to one of wild grief as, with twitch- 
ing features and outstretched arms, Alice flew at her, crying: 

“O, you unselfish darling! If he isn’t good to you I’ll kill 
him, I just know I shall! I feel it in my bones!” And then 
Alice, the dignified, practical, self-sufficient, new head of the 
family, went completely off her base, and sobbed frantically on 
her sister’s shoulder. Jean’s emotions were surprised off 
guard, and she began to cry, too, which brought Alice to terms 
quicker than anything else could have done. 

“Don’t, Jean! Please don’t! for my sake! Can't you let 
me have my little fit without joining in the procession?” But 
Jean’s tears were not so easily checked. 

“Oh! what shall I do!” cried Alice tragically, waving her 
hands as if addressing the powers of the air. “Just ‘phancy 
my pheelings !’ walking up the aisle in front of a small thunder- 
shower! Why didn’t I do something desperate — elope with 
the bridegroom — anything — but open this fountain of waters !” 

It took all Alice’s arts to restore Jean’s composure, but the 
little cloud-burst was over at last, the pressure was relieved, 
and the dressing went on cheerfully. 

When Judge Bruce came to escort the mother to the church, 
he brought the bride a bouquet of orange blossoms which he 
had sent to New Orleans for. In presenting it he explained 
that he hadn’t felt satisfied because there wasn’t a big, old- 
fashioned home wedding, with roast pig and a big bride’s cake 
with a ring in it, and was determined to have something bridi- 
fied about the affair. 

It was a pretty wedding, for all that it was as unpretending 


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327 


as the contracting parties themselves. Jean looked really 
pretty in a street suit of white flannel and leghorn hat, with 
ostrich tips. Alice was maid of honor, Robert’s brother, 
Henry, acted as best man, and Duke gave the bride away. 
After the ceremony there was a breakfast at Conway Cottage, 
which was full to overflowing when the family and all the 
Bruces, the only guests, were in. 

When Robert said something about the trip they were going 
on his father felt it his duty to take him aside and remonstrate. 
Robert listened respectfully, and then said: 

“Well, father, Jean and I have always worked, and as we 
intend to continue to do so, I think we deserve a holiday now.” 

“But the expense, young man! the expense!” the judge 
urged. 

“I have thought of that, too. I have something laid up for 
a rainy day, of course, which I would not draw upon for any 
mere pleasure; but there is one thing I am determined upon, 
and that is, that money shall be my servant, not my master.” 

“Well, lad, I am bound to admit that you have struck the 
manly note there, though I have never looked at the matter in 
just that light before,” said the father thoughtfully. 

Uncle Peter, with a shining new coat of paint on his car- 
riage, and a new lining inside, came to the gate, and good-byes 
began. When Kit’s turn came she threw her arms around her 
sister rapturously, exclaiming: 

“O, Jean! You are really off at last! Now it’s Alice’s turn, 
and then I can be a young lady!” 

“You unmitigated savage!” said Alice, amid a general laugh, 
but the mother only said quietly: 

“Let her alone, dear; she’ll come out all right, I’m sure.” 

So the young Conways didn’t keep their old home for all 
their struggles; it went for all time like the old, self-indulgent 
life it represented. But in their efforts to save it they had 
found a better life, the life of endeavor and of helpfulness to 
self and thers. [the end.] 

























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